Seeds
by LexLuthor13
Summary: A story of Palpatine: the man he was, the man he became, and the people he meets on the road to becoming Senator, Chancellor and finally Emperor.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note**: what follows is part one of a story I'd originally posted on the Jedi Council boards over at I bring it here for the general consideration. Enjoy.

* * *

Naboo.

A peaceful world. Pastoral. Calm. A wealthy man might consider it worthy of a vacation, but even the countless credits of a respected Senator would belie the planet's importance.

34,000 light years from the Core, Naboo was but a settlement to travelers—squatters—from the planet Grizmallt thousands of years ago. An indistinguishable jewel among the cosmos.

Even the greatest jewels have flaws.

His name is Palpatine. Little concrete evidence of his early life exists in Imperial Archives; the truth perhaps veiled behind lie after lie, each intended to portray His Majesty as timeless, deathless…a perpetual force for justice and security in the New Order.

At a time when corruption was the standard, and graft was a way of life, Palpatine swept into office and superseded the Old Republic with his new Galactic Empire. It was supposed to last ten thousand years—rivaling even the greatest of the empires Sith masters of old had crafted from blood and death.

But the Empire was doomed from the outset. Like the Republic it conquered, the Empire was crafted on a similar predication of patronage, bribery, and fear. All of these tactics were designed with the express purpose of keeping rebellious systems and rebellious Senators—however small their number—from voicing their concerns to a public Palpatine did not trust. A public to which the new Emperor scarcely made himself present.

Sequestered in the most private of his chambers inside the labyrinthine Imperial Palace, Palpatine was something of a myth, even until news of his death spread and riots on Imperial Center brought his reputation to burn in crude effigy. Palpatine was a cipher to the public. A ghost. Ruling by fear and by proxy—through servants in the manner of Darth Vader and even alliances with criminal organizations like Black Sun—Palpatine stretched the Empire's durasteel hand across the stars.

Through edicts from his office, the Wookiees of Kashyyyk were enslaved and tortured by Trandoshans eager for pelts, for retribution, and for blood. Through Palpatine, the Bothan Spynet was nearly obliterated; it's every living record close to assimilation into Imperial Archives. Most heinous among his crimes, perhaps, was the eradication of the Jedi Order, carried out in secret by utterly compliant clone soldiers from Kamino—the Army of the Republic. Sworn to protect and serve.

But this is the story the Alliance knows, and tells to its children.

The truth is...different.

Palpatine is different.

As Darth Sidious, training and losing apprentices every so often, Palpatine engineered the events that brought about the end of the Old Republic. He seduced Dooku of Serenno, a known plutocrat and ordinarily unflappable in matters of loyalty and money, to serve the Dark Side of the Force. He even swayed Anakin Skywalker—the Chosen One, if the ancient prophecies were true—to become Darth Vader. The Scourge of the Jedi. But...too much has been made of Anakin Skywalker.

This story is of Palpatine. The man he was. The man he became. And finally, the man who **is**.

* * *

**_Continued_**... 


	2. Prologue Part II

"Give it back, or I'll break your face."

"Get...get off me...Augie."

He hated it when the other kids called him Augie. Especially Talonn. It gave the young Palpatine a cause for aloofness. A reason to be angry when someone stood in the way, or took what was rightfully his.

Most of the other children usually avoided him, and let him have his way; they could not figure him out. The young Palpatine was reliable and helpful if needed; he had a sharp wit and silver tongue that could ruin any other child by simple hearsay. He had all the trappings of a sissy, but could not be conceivably construed as such. He was too...calm and too self-reliant, had too much quiet scrutiny and disturbing contempt for everyone. He was unafraid of anything.

It was easy enough for young Talonn to steal the allowances of the kids in the Legislative Youth program. While the rest of the class was learning legislative processes, Talonn slipped away, unnoticed, and rooted in the other kids' topcoats and cloaks.

When 'Augie' stepped out from the lesson, he found Talonn on his hands and knees, rooting through a pile of coats. Desperate for a pittance.

Palpatine's thin lips curled into a scowl. His eyes narrowed, his hands formed into fists. Before pouncing on the boy however…a scrupulous passer-by would have noticed that Talonn was slowly rising into the air, and that Palpatine wasn't even touching him. It was a trick of the light. Talonn was a meter in the air when Palpatine extended a hand, with the thumb and forefinger held three centimeters from each other, and Talonn started choking.

Palpatine released the choke when Talonn's face turned blue, and let the boy fall to the ground. In his disorientation, Talonn did not see Palpatine pounce. Taking advantage of the boy's weakness, Palpatine started pummeling Talonn with as much determination as a ten-year old could muster. When it was finished Talonn had a broken nose, five missing teeth, and a small clot in his neck, this only detected after a medic's inspection. No doubt, it was the work of Palpatine's choking trick.

When it was finished, Palpatine stood, dusted himself off and turned to see the instructor of Legislative Processes standing a meter away; hands held at her side, shielding the other students from him.

But he was no madman. He tugged on the robes draping his shoulders curtly, and stared frankly at the instructor.

"Talonn is a bully. He steals from the kids." His voice was calm and reserved. Not hateful, not specious. Simply factual.

The question of punishment thereafter became an ethical problem. It was difficult to punish Augie because, technically, he was serving the public good—as young Naboo were oft taught—by exposing and dispatching of a ne'er-do-well. This was fact. Despite knowing that the young Palpatine had committed a wrong—deliberate malice, the courts would have called it—there was little his parents or his instructors could do. It seemed wrong that they would have to punish a boy who had avenged injustice. Indeed, Talonn had been expelled indefinitely for theft, while the young Palpatine was merely sent to bed without his supper.

This was the way of things. The way of the universe.

* * *

The young Palpatine was a thin and pale boy with a bad stomach. His mother had watched and lorded over him at great length, ensuring that the diamond of her eye never fell ill in any sense of the word. Palpatine's voice was calm and slight; he never spoke at great length, except when it suited him. In his lessons he was a model pupil. He had the neatest copytablets, dressed the best, and preferred reading and Dejarik over athletics, the latter of which he assiduously avoided. He excelled at Linguistics, at history, at civics; later, at psychology and sociology. 

He studied conscientiously and hard. He was determined and single-minded. He did the expected, rather than the chaotic, and everyone who knew it came to him for advice, help, and even a cheat or two. Those were the children he incriminated when no one was looking. He had an absolute conviction in justice, and was willing to administer it by his own hand—the only hand capable. He was a spectator, but one who knew the limits of the playing field.

He lived a minimalist existence, even as a child. Decorations were decadent. This was a personal affectation he had; not brought on by an implacable authority. Palpatine made his own rules, and those around him simply abided them.

At the age of twelve, Palpatine found mythology--or more appropriately, the Force. Near the culmination of his study in the Legislative Youth Program, Palpatine was approached by a man identifying himself to the administrators only as 'Dee' and claiming to be a retired government official from the far side of the planet. He was a tall man, with gaunt and dark features, and he spoke very little. The only thing he told the program administrators at Theed was that he was looking for a boy named Palpatine, and that seeing the boy was of pressing importance.

The program administrators feared him on first sight, and the man himself took an immediate liking to Palpatine.

The truth is...lost to time. What survives is this: Palpatine learned the history of the Force from this man. Palpatine poured himself into the study of Force lore and histories, learning all he could before tradition dictated that he seek public office.

He decided, eventually, on the Quæstorship. It was a financial office; if elected Palpatine would oversee the affairs of the Theed treasury and appropriations of money—in his capacity, for what little security force existed. After his election, Palpatine saw to it that the security force's ranks stayed low.

Over time, as he fulfilled his duties as the urban Quæstor sufficiently, Palpatine moved up the ladder. After serving in the Quæstorship for two years, he became the Praetor Urbanus—a post which required his permanent presence in Theed as a magistrate of justice, and a seat in the cabinet of the King.

And it was there that Palpatine watched. And learned. And catalogued everything about the Palace and its monarch.

Six months after becoming the Praetor Urbanus, Palpatine gave his power back to the King, effectively resigning, and left Naboo. He left but a single document reader on his desk, told no one he was leaving or even where he was to go. His secretary found it the morning after he left, and read it aloud to the King:

_Your Majesty,  
I have resigned my powers to your august body and hope you may find someone as steadily-minded and dedicated as myself to fill the position. Naboo requires only the brightest minds to ensure her continued success. In my absence, I shall expand my capabilities, the likes of which shall lead our world to the next horizon._

He signed his surname only in a grand flourish. And for years, no one heard anything from him. He did not write or send transmissions of any kind, and without a return signal the King and the rest of Naboo had no idea where Palpatine had gone.

It was only on his return that anyone had an idea of the intimacies of his pilgrimage--if it could be called that. And even then, Palpatine's whereabouts had become rumor. In all the wrong circles, it was said that he piloted a ship into the Unknown Regions and came back unscathed--remarkable in itself. Others said he went to the ancient Jedi homeworld of Ilum to find his destiny, whatever that may be.

No one knew where he went, or what he did while there, until it was too late.

Until no one could do anything about it.

* * *

**_Continued..._**


	3. Chapter 1: Fear and Anger

_Coruscant. _

The capital of the Old Republic. Indisputably, the most important world in the galaxy. The heart of intergalactic commerce, situated at Hyperspace coordinates 0,0,0. It was the crux of the major trade routes, and one of the richest planets in the galaxy. When the Galactic Empire came about, Coruscant took on the trappings of an armed camp; strict weapons laws were enforced and the Imperial Palace was closed to visitors. Along with the palaces of Black Sun and Darth Vader himself…the Imperial Palace was but a spot on the horizon. Unattainable, even to the most dedicated.

But for a fledgling politician who called himself Palpatine, the Imperial Palace was a jewel. A goal. To be reached at any cost, for a reason he couldn't quite explain. Not yet, anyway.

* * *

"Who are you?" 

Palpatine's voice cut through the darkness and the strange silence of an empty Theed streetway. On hearing the voice, the man in the dark cloak turned his head a degree to his right.

Palpatine looked at the cloaked man. And the cloaked man looked right back at him.

"My name is merely Plagueis. But I speak for something much larger than either of us. An ideal which serves a much higher purpose. And ideal which can offer you a path. A raison d'être, as it were."

"And?" Palpatine was instantly annoyed with the stoic nature of his guest.

"There is a reason I've come to you. I think you already know why. Did you not find it exceedingly easy for me to control your teachers?"

"I did," Palpatine says narrowly.

"Then you will not find difficult what I have in mind for you, young master. Don't you wonder…how you were able to punish young Talonn those years ago?"

Palpatine's face contorted in worry and confusion. "How…how would you know a thing like that?"

"Because," Plagueis said, staring straight into Palpatine. "I know many things. You and I, young master, we have seen history have we not? We are living it now. Join me…and you will be able to **make** history by your own hand." Plagueis' eyes stood out from behind the blackness of the cloak. They glowed with a warm and sinister burgundy. "You will be more powerful than any living man. You, young master…you will have the stars in the palm of your hand.

Plagueis' eyes narrowed and he stepped away from Palpatine. Spoke with a sigh: "but it is not a road lightly tread. There are…sacrifices…for progress."

Palpatine touched a finger to his chin, thinking it over. The Force wasn't exactly required reading in the prep schools of Theed. And yet…

Power.

He lifted his head and spoke.

"You don't waste any time, do you?"

His back turned to Palpatine, Plagueis let out a curt and grave "No." He turned slowly and folded his arms over his chest. The hood covering his face made visible only his mouth and point of the aquiline nose. Like he was nothing but a mouth under the shadows of a cloak. It was a curious sight. Palpatine's eyes narrowed and he considered the man's physical trappings for a moment before Plagueis spoke.

"I can help you, Palpatine. Your anger gives you great strength—it is dedicated to the world around you—but you must focus it. Find a point to which you can devote the entirety of your person. And you shall attain that which you so ardently seek."

"And that is?"

"Power," Plagueis said. "Unlimited power."

Palpatine stared at Plagueis for an interminable time, silent.

"What if I say no?"

"There are other opportunities, young master. Other goals. But your power was most prescient to me. I offer you this opportunity now. Without strings."

"I'm listening." Palpatine never could keep quiet when someone other than himself was speaking.

"You know the history of the Force, its awe and splendor. I can teach you to harness its power for your own use, and in so doing become a powerful man. A god among insects. Become my apprentice, Palpatine. Use my knowledge, and you will be able to mandate justice as **you** see fit."

It took Palpatine an hour to pack his things and leave a document reader on his desk, obliquely resigning his post and giving an equally oblique alibi: "taking an extended leave of absence in the Outer Rim."

Thus it was that the man called Plagueis trained Palpatine for an end he would not divulge. This was done in secret, on the capital world of Coruscant. The home of the Jedi. In his private moments, Palpatine pondered how the Jedi, with their apparent power, had not detected Plagueis. No one knew what Palpatine was doing with his nights, save for the fact that a single pane of his apartment widow burned brightly with the light of late-night studies.

"The Living Force."

That's what Plagueis had told him. "That all life is interconnected, and that we must focus our thinking on the here and now, my young friend. This school of thought is your enemy. Know this."

"Why?" Palpatine was always questioning. A lesser mind would have thought it insolence. Plagueis found it inquisitiveness. It was welcome.

"Our focus must be on the future, my young apprentice. To grasp it, sense it, understand it. And eventually master it. To mold the events yet to unfold to our favor. This is the essence of our cause."

"Control."

"Yes," Plagueis said nonchalantly. Then he held his hands at mid-torso height, the fingers curling downward. To Palpatine, the strike came slowly. As if the universe around him slowed to inexorable measure.

First, a tingling, burning sensation in Palpatine's ribs. A surge of electrical energy surging through his body and up his spine, incapacitating him and sending him to floor, writhing in spasms of pain. At the corners of his eyes, tears welled. Palpatine swept them away hastily, angrily, before his master caught sight.

"It is about fear," Plagueis said. And struck again. More lightning. The world went dark for a moment, and Palpatine blacked out briefly. When his sight returned, he saw his master. Plagueis. Staring down at him with a scientist's distant stare.

"This lesson, my young apprentice...is about fear. Anger. The two complement each other, you see. We are angry at that which makes us afraid, angry that we cannot overcome our infantile phobias."

Palpatine's body spasmed and ached from the lightning. His jaw clenched, and for a moment he hated his master with all the energy he had left.

"So tell me," Plagueis said with a grim expression. He kneeled and touched two fingers to Palpatine's forehead. "What do you fear, my apprentice? What makes you angry?"

Breathless, Palpatine choked out the word: "presumption."

"Interesting diction. Presumption of faith? Love? Property? Someone stealing what you see as yours? Or tertiary theft? Injustice to another, perhaps, a childhood friend?"

"No," Palpatine said. It was forceful and snide. He found the energy to sit up. Plagueis stood. "Other people's problems are no concern to me. They can deal with it themselves."

"Then what is it?"

"The wanton nature of it. The chaos."

"The criminal who plans his escapades—this is the type of man you loathe?" Plagueis' eyes narrowed. "Planned to the last minutiae?"

"The type of man who presumes to act on things that are not his. He covets, he steals, he…murders. All in the name of the Why-Not." Palpatine said. Plagueis smiled.

"You are a quick learner, my young apprentice. And you have yet much to learn."

"Thank you," Palpatine said, effortless and empty.

"We shall discuss this more tomorrow."

A brief silence, and then Plagueis extended a hand to Palpatine.

"Come," he said cordially, wrapping the hand and the arm around his apprentice's shoulder. "You know of chaos, and you know of order. You appreciate the latter. Let me help you to learn the subtleties of the Force. Its mythology, its scale and its...wars."

"Wars?"

"Yes," Plagueis said. "The Force is an engine for discord. Its believers have used this knowledge for thousands of years. Doubtless, my apprentice, you know of the Jedi."

"Doubtless," Palpatine repeated, hollow.

"They are the light. We are the dark. Where there is light, the shadow runs deeper. For those thousands of years, the Jedi have continuously seen fit to interfere in our affairs—even those operating within the boundaries of legality. We commit no evil, and the Jedi still wish to destroy us. This is fact."

"I don't...I don't understand." The words were difficult for Palpatine to conjure. To even say. A boy of sixteen should not have trouble saying such things, but Palpatine did. He had always understood. Questions were not new to Palpatine—merely gateways to knowledge. Admitting one's ignorance? That was weakness. And he hated it.

"Let me impart to you just one example of Jedi treachery against our ways, my young apprentice." Plagueis stopped and craned his neck to the ceiling. With a sigh, he said: "did you ever hear the legend of Naga Sadow?"

Palpatine shook his head.

And listened.


	4. Chapter 2: Justice

**Chapter II: Justice  
**  
_The Works._

Coruscant's industrial region. It's a dead spot on the planet's surface, as far as the expression goes. Abandoned factories, mills and foundries fallen into disrepair, having not been occupied in decades upon decades. Emptiness. Of no interest to anyone, except those who knew and wanted a refuge in the darkness.  
_  
A Sith Lord, and his apprentice, and an unsuspecting science experiment.

* * *

_

Plagueis was gone when Palpatine rose the next morning.

Palpatine quickly clothed himself and went to the main hangar, where Plagueis' small craft had brought him some weeks before. How much time had passed since leaving Theed? Palpatine couldn't tell.

He walked to a transparisteel bay window and stared out at the morning horizon. Geometrically-perfect lines of sky cabs and crafts traversing the amber-hued sky. Buildings in the background, sharp an angled, narrow ebony monoliths. And in the foreground, blackness. Years upon years of construction had made Coruscant's true surface but a memory—replaced by an ecumenopolis built on industry and commerce and the backs of businessmen from eons ago.

The greatest planet in the galaxy—the universe—housing the greatest mind in the galaxy.

He could already feel his power growing. When his lessons with Plagueis were not in session, Palpatine read. Traveling to the Republic Archives at the Senate and the Library of the Senate, Palpatine read and remembered all he could. Languages, interspecies politics and cultures. By his twentieth birthday, the man spoke Huttese and Rodian--two of the galaxy's hardest languages--fluently. And he was beginning to take a keen interest in Cheunh. The language of his master.

He wanted to expand his knowledge to a point where he would no longer need Plagueis' guidance.

That, he thought—no…knew—was secondary to his own ambitions. Training was something on its own. But will…knowledge…those things were everything. They were the shatterpoints on which Palpatine's future rested.

This was fact.

He would become a Sith Lord. Soon enough. And then he would achieve the ultimate goal of which his master had spoken so voluminously.

Power. Unlimited Power.

Palpatine sat on the ledge and continued gazing at the city in the distance. And he remembered what his master had told of Naga Sadow…and of the man called Exar Kun.

There was a sequence to the history—a poetry—that Palpatine found fascinating. The order of events was so perfect that it was almost unimaginable that one man created all of it. One Sith Lord's actions begat another's and so on, until a harmony was reached within. Where one master and his apprentice declared war on the Jedi to achieve peace for the Sith. It began with Naga Sadow, nearly five thousand years ago.

Naga Sadow was a Dark Lord of the Sith, but before that he was a rogue Jedi. He was the mastermind of the Great Sith War—one of many, at least—a conflagration that brought the attention of the Jedi Order to spar with the Sith Empire when two Jedi happened upon the Sith crown world of Korriban—deep in Wild Space. Sadow declared war on the Republic and proclaimed himself ruler of the Sith Empire. He fought not only the Republic, but the forces of his rival and eventual successor, Ludo Kressh, and was forced to destroy his own fleet to escape. Sadow landed on Yavin IV and constructed vast temples with the labor of his Massassi warriors—natives versed in the ancient sorcery of the Sith.

Six hundred years passed. And another fallen Jedi, this one named Freedon Nadd, arrived on the forest moon.

There he learned Sith sorcery from the spirit of Sadow—no longer alive in the clinical sense; disembodied, but just as fearsome as he had been in life. The fallen Jedi Nadd took his knowledge and the treasures of Sadow to the planet Onderon, where he used his acquired gifts to install himself as king. Long after death, his spirit continued to advise his descendants.

And Ulic Qel-Droma, a Jedi, arrived on Onderon, unaware of the history or Sith legacy. He came across the spirit of Freedon Nadd, and was told that in time he would become a Sith Lord.

Which…eventually of course he did. Unfortunately, Onderon was a nexus for another rogue Jedi named Exar Kun. Kun yearned to learn secrets of the Dark Side after a perfunctory glimpse into a Holocron possessed by his master.

He went to Onderon.

There, the spirit of the long-deceased Sith Lord Freedon Nadd appeared to Kun. Using the young Jedi's natural naïveté to his advantage, the ancient Sith instructed Kun to continue his quest to the Sith tomb-world of Korriban. Kun agreed, plunging straight into the dark side.

On Korriban, the spirits of Sith Lords of old tested the Jedi and Kun found himself trapped under an embankment of rocks. Near death, Kun had no escape, save one. To save himself, to be imbued with greater power and sorcery of the Dark Side, Kun gave in to his anger and let the Dark Side consume him.

He left Korriban a shadow of the man he once was. And he went to the fourth moon of Yavin.

He was captured by the Massassi, the last remnants of Sadow's old empire. And when Freedon Nadd encouraged Kun to give the last shreds of darkness permanence…Kun broke free and slaughtered his captors without thought. Kun enslaved the remaining Massassi, banished Nadd's presence from the galaxy. He proclaimed himself a god. He foresaw a great battle, and knew that his plans for conquest would fail if a Jedi powerful enough intervened in the delicate beginnings.

Ulic Qel-Droma, the only Jedi powerful enough to stop Kun from refurbishing the Sith Empire, became his apprentice. Qel-Droma was seduced by the Dark Side, and all his schemes for personal glory became as nothing as the darkness enveloped him. With a new apprentice—one younger and more powerful than his contemporaries--Exar Kun was ready to fulfill his destiny.

The Great Sith War had begun.

When it was over Exar Kun had killed his old master, Vodo Siosk-Baas, on the steps of the Senate chamber. Ulic Qel-Droma encountered and killed his brother on Ossus, was subsequently stripped of his Force intuition, and went into hiding on the planet Rhen Var. And Kun, faced with extermination, drew his power inward, drained the life-force from the Massassi and bound his conscious mind to the temples they had built for him.

Four thousand years passed. And the name of Exar Kun was forgotten. Except to those who had the means to access his secrets.

Palpatine had read this history in his private moments. Of Kun's exploits; his successes and failures, his genius. Palpatine knew that he would someday take an apprentice; a thought he relished, and committed himself to learning.

He would find a way to supersede his master, a way to take an apprentice and accomplish the unfinished business of the Sith of old.

And he would do it as Kun had done with Qel-Droma.

Palpatine heard a pneumatic door slide shut behind him, and turned to see his master approaching in a deliberate stride. Half a meter in front of Plagueis, a woman, bound at the wrists and ankles with energy binders, hovered. The blue tint circled her wrists and illuminated her face, even in the encroaching daylight. She was scantily clad, and dark circles surrounded her eyes. From the looks of it, she hadn't slept.

"What is this?" Palpatine asked, watching Plagueis throw the woman to the floor. She summoned enough energy to spit at Plagueis' boots. The act made Plagueis draw his lightsaber and sever her feet in a single swipe. The lightsaber was sheathed back beneath Plagueis' cloak before Palpatine could even register motion; the clues were the woman's obviously detached feet, cauterized at the point of impact and lying lifeless on the duranium floor.

"Justice," Plagueis said calmly. "This woman is a prostitute. That is illegal on Coruscant. She means to destroy the fiber on which society is built by relaxed morality and reckless disregard for her own body. And for others."

Something clicked inside Palpatine's head. "You mean to kill her," he said factually.

"This woman is a criminal. You are the only being capable of administering justice. The only being who can be trusted to do so."

"Alright." The words came slowly from Palpatine's mouth. This was…different than crime. Perhaps this woman had resorted to the institution for financial needs; perhaps to support herself through education. In his mind, Palpatine recriminated himself. Wishful thinking.

Palpatine knew it. He just knew it.

"Yes," he said grimly. "Yes, all right."

"Good." Plagueis smiled, and extended a hand to his apprentice. The hand held a silver and duranium covered lightsaber hilt with downturned spikes on the lower point. A single scarlet button ignited the blade—a crimson flame that seemed to extend from Palpatine's own hand. To him, it was a magnificent sight. Almost weightless.

Palpatine examined the hilt for a moment before his master spoke again.

"Kill her."

"What?"

"Kill her now."

Palpatine looked at the woman on the floor: paraplegic, with a stunned and motionless expression. Her lips quivered, her eyes leaked tears at both corners…as if to say _don't do this_.

Palpatine had heard that voice before. The voice of retribution in his mind, telling him what punishment was in store if he committed the act. The voice telling him not to pound Talonn's face into the floor.

Palpatine scowled and stifled the voice.

And drove the blade through the woman's sternum.

Her eyes fluttered for a moment, and then closed. Dead. Palpatine brought the blade out of her chest slowly, carefully—foolishly, as if making sure he didn't singe anything on the exit.

"Good." Plagueis kneeled beside the woman and touched two fingers to her forehead. Palpatine watched silent as his master knelt over the woman. Plagueis was silent for what seemed an eternity. Plagueis bowed his head; Palpatine swore he could hear his master mumbling something to the dead prostitute.

Her eyes fluttered once more and stared at the ceiling. But they were…different. More cold and distant. Less alive. Less human.

Plagueis stood.

And said, "Do it again."

* * *

_**Continued...**_


	5. Chapter 3: The Way of All Flesh

**Chapter III: The Way of All Flesh**

_500 Republica. _

Home to many wealthy citizens including senators and politicians. Arguably, a hornet's nest of the upper crust of Coruscanti society. Including the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, at this point in time a being known only as Kalpana.

But this is not about the Chancellor. This is about an aide of his, a man named Finis Valorum, and his friendship with the man who would eventually succeed and then kill him. Before he became Chancellor, even before he became a Senator, Palpatine was but an acquaintance of Valorum. The first step to knowing the man...was getting his foot in the door.

_And as he had concluded in reading the histories of Exar Kun and Ulic Qel-Droma, Palpatine knew that he wanted Valorum's position for his own someday. And he would use his power as a Force-adept to attain that goal.

* * *

_

Palpatine killed the prostitute twelve more times.

And each time, after impaling her in a different extremity, Plagueis brought her back, simply by touching her forehead and focusing his energies inward.

That was his leitmotif. His prime mover. Plagueis was a mystic. Obsessed with generation and mortality and deathlessness. But there was nothing suspicious or even alarming in this. Plagueis had told his apprentice that the Jedi and Sith alike had for millennia sought means to stave off death.

So far as Plagueis would tell Palpatine, a method to cheat death—a method of overcoming the very nature of the Force—had been discovered. By Plagueis and Plagueis alone, though Palpatine knew better. Palpatine knew his master was lying through his teeth; knew that other, far older Sith Lords had kept their essences alive. In time, he wanted those secrets. But for now, he could live with patronizing his foolishly inconsistent master.

It was this that Palpatine resented. This that gave him a reason to hate—which is what all good Sith Lords require. Hate. Unbridled, it can be an engine of destruction—for those who stand in its way. To gain true power, become one with hate. Let it flow through you, and…all your dreams will come true.

Palpatine had come to understand this, in his teachings with his master and in his private moments.

His hate was for his master. For what Plageuis had told him.

In his early teachings, Palpatine had been told of an experiment his master had conceived, to use ancient disciplines to influence the midi-chlorians to draw life directly from the wellspring of the Force itself. The child resultant from this experiment, Plagueis insisted, would potentially possess astounding power. Would be the living embodiment of the Force itself.

Palpatine understood the implications.

He saw it as the end. Plagueis intended to subvert the Master-Apprentice relationship and kill Palpatine, to replace him with the Force-born child. This was a threat. One Palpatine had intended to rectify, given time and thought.

He certainly had enough of both.

It was then that his master interrupted and took back the lightsaber.

"Good," Plagueis said, shutting off the lightsaber and clipping it back to his belt. "You have done well."

"Yes, Master."

"You have become a powerful Sith. You know that you cannot allow personal affectations to stand in the way of the Natural Order."

"Yes." Palpatine's voice was heavy.

Plagueis' eyes narrowed and he regarded his apprentice for a moment. "You served as a Praetor Urbanus for the King of Naboo. You know of politics. You know that the political system is the fitting engine by which our plans can be implemented."

"Yes," Palpatine said, annoyed.

"You, my young apprentice, have an unrivalled knowledge of the system of which we require manipulation. Only you can do this."

A slow smile creased across Palpatine's lips.

"Can it be done?" Plagueis asked flatly.

"Yes," Palpatine said.

"Then you must go to the Senate. Meet with the Supreme Chancellor, become accustomed to his ways. Immersion in the inner circle will be but prefatory to grander schemes."

Palpatine frowned momentarily. "Yes, Master."

And he went to the Senate chamber the next morning.

He approached the concierge, seated at a sprawling transparisteel desk before the entrance to the Rotunda, and smiled humbly. Palpatine slid his hands into his pockets and spoke plainly--cordially—to the concierge.

"Excuse me."

"Whaddaya want?" she asked; the fat surrounding her neck fluttered and failed to keep pace with her speech pattern. Palpatine cocked his head slightly. Such decorum.

"I'm looking for the Supreme Chancellor. Perhaps you can help me." The irony wasn't lost on Palpatine. This was a crude method to find Kalpana, but it worked. The concierge looked up from the desk and cocked an eye at Palpatine.

"Look. Buddy," she said, her voice becoming steadily rougher. Like some poor fool who's enjoyed one too many tobacc-cylinders and paid the price with a tracheostomy. "You want to see the Chancellor, make an appointment. Don't make it my problem."

"You're the concierge, are you not?"

"Yeah. The information desk. Period."

Palpatine angled his head to the side slightly. And tapped the Force. He sensed the lobby empty—no witnesses—and slid a hand underneath the scarlet cummerbund circling his waist. His fingers curled around a silver and gold lightsaber hilt, and he slid it silently from its clasp. Palpatine had constructed his own lightsaber some months ago, but Palpatine killed the prostitute using his master's blade. For some odd reason.

The concierge almost fell backward out of her chair when the tip of Palpatine's crimson blade singed the fat on her chin.

"Now," Palpatine said. The blade was steady. The concierge stared at Palpatine, trembled, and a single tear seeped from her eye. "The Chancellor. If you please."

* * *

_**Continued...**_


	6. Chapter 4: One To Embody

**One to Embody…**

_Palpatine instantly disliked the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.  
The very instant he saw the man called Kalpana seated behind an ebony-colored crescent of a desk, Palpatine sighed and thought himself in store for bureaucratic ramblings. The subject matter was nothing new; Palpatine had heard it in the service of Naboo's King: fixing the system, staying the course, and maintaining an aura of peace for "our children's children."_

_  
Indeed, when Kalpana began speaking, Palpatine automatically tuned it out. Occasionally he would reply with a curt—if snide—"yes," "agreed," or something to that effect. But while he disregarded Kalpana, Palpatine focused his interest more on the man standing to the right and a foot behind Kalpana's chair. _

A man who, on introducing Palpatine to the Chancellor, identified himself only as Valorum.

* * *

He was tall. Statuesque, even. Carried a certain quiet authority with him. Palpatine guessed this Valorum couldn't have been more than his own age. In between Kalpana's ramblings of corruption, Palpatine made a quick mental catalogue of Valorum. Deep set eyes, close-shorn silver hair, and a permanent expression of concern. As if the gods that created him had done so with the express intention of making him a soft-spoken monolith; just saying enough to be personable, and distant all at once. Palpatine called it determination.

Determination was a virtue.

Palpatine's eyebrow arched.

Virtue. Possibility.

Kalpana finally shut up, clasped his hands on the desktop and smiled expectantly at Palpatine.

"So," he said in a thick Coruscanti. "I trust your trip was successful. No problems? Delays? Traffic this time of day can be a bit of a botheration."

"No, Chancellor." Palpatine didn't even bother to look at Kalpana; instead staring just over the Chancellor's shoulder at the setting sun and the architectural angles of the skyline. "No problem. Why?"

"Just curious," Kalpana shrugged. "So why have you come, if you don't mind my asking."

"You're too humble, Your Excellency." Palpatine smiled. "I have come to ask for your patronage."

"Oh?" One of Kalpana's eyebrows arched.

"Yes. As you may or my not be aware, I was a servant under the King of Naboo for some time. I recently left his service to pursue personal endeavours. I deduced that Coruscant was the place to achieve those goals. After all, what is the old axiom? If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere?"

"True enough." Kalpana nodded graciously. "But I feel it requisite to mention—" his voice turned apprehensive and he cocked his head— "that you have breached the, ah, hierarchy. You should have gone through my personal attaché."

"Yes," Palpatine said frankly. "But I need help in the direct sense, Chancellor. I could not wait. And you, Supreme Chancellor, are the only man to whom I can confide safely."

Kalpana sighed and reclined in his chair, stroking his beard thoughtfully. He looked away for a moment, and came back to Palpatine. "Convince me."

"Name recognition," Palpatine said plainly. "A simple, unassuming civil servant wins a seat for the Chommell Sector, word spreads that he has been sponsored by the current Chancellor…a powerful celebrity you will become. Until all manner of people come to this august body for advice and patronage. You will be contributing to a system far greater than any mere desk job."

Kalpana examined the trappings of his desk thoughtfully.

The offer was…tempting. Name recognition. The chance to become a household name in nearly every system from the Core to Bothawui. A chance for…re-election. Kalpana stood.

"Surely," he said, "you must know that the Chommell Seat is occupied by one of our oldest members. His tenure surpasses even my own."

"So I hear," Palpatine said, following Kalpana and Valorum down the steps and out of the office. "But the mid-term elections are coming up. A run at his seat could portend some much needed reform in the Senate. And in this office."

Kalpana stopped and crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. Palpatine recognized it as a paltry attempt at looking into a soul. Kalpana possessed neither the strength of character nor the mental capacity to make such judgments.

"My dear boy, you have yourself a deal." Kalpana waved a hand and Valorum stepped forward. "This is my personal assistant Finis. Finis, you'll be working with our friend here."

Valorum gave a small, almost obligatory nod to Palpatine.

Valorum was even kind enough to take Palpatine to lunch at the Menarai. It was not difficult to get seating—despite whatever galactic media said about the Menarai's exclusivity. The Supreme Chancellor often dined there, had his own booth. It was simple for Valorum to say he worked in Kalpana's office. There, over sirloins of Waygu, they discussed Palpatine's pressing election.

"It's simply a matter of time, I think," Palpatine said, sipping wine the color of dark blood.

"You seem dedicated." Valorum's voice was as calm as it had been in the Chancellor's office.

"It's a virtue," Palpatine said laconically. "I prefer late nights to slothing about."

"Agreed," Valorum said dubiously. "So, ah, how does a Naboo like yourself end up in the Core?"

Palpatine cringed at the word 'Naboo.' He was no Naboo, and those who used the term did so out of ignorance. _Most people in this universe think exclusively in terms of planetary affectations_, Palpatine thought. _Fools_. The notions of Eriads and Naboo, Corellian and Alderaanian were all….misguided. _We're all human_. _As they are we…we are all together. We are all human. Not Falleen, not Rodian, not Bothan. We are something greater._

_We are our own gods._

Thus was Palpatine's thought process as he explained himself to Valorum. "I had resigned my services to the King on the condition that I could travel the galaxy and find more suitable ways to serve. After all, one does not have to be educated to serve. All it takes is a determination. The most serious mind. The deepest commitment. And a certain…appreciation for helping one's fellow man."

Valorum frowned and lowered the Waygu, skewered on a fork, to the plate. "Fellow man?"

"Oh?" Palpatine feigned surprise. Privately, though, Valorum gave the expected response. Valorum's disagreement was more proof that even the smartest were the dirtiest. His calm demeanor hid a great deal, Palpatine sensed.

"If I do say so myself," Valorum said, sipping more wine. "This is but a job for me. I do it because it's what I was trained and educated for. Seems that you do it for the joy of doing it."

"Yes," Palpatine said. He felt no need to hide his zest for the system. "Enjoying life for its own sake."

Valorum shrugged and sipped his wine.

"I want to run for the Senate," Palpatine said, cutting the silence expertly. "That's a way to achieve goals, yes? A way to serve the people."

"From a lofty perch," Valorum jested. "Senators rarely see their constituents, and if they do, it's in a fiercely sterile environment. No chance of closeness with the people one represents. No chance to truly see what they want."

"Then I must decide what they want, if I'm to serve effectively," Palpatine said darkly.

Valorum nodded. "I get the sense you wish to change that?"

"Yes," Palpatine said plainly. "I was firsthand exposed to the corruption in the King's office. The graft. It was obscene. Personal feelings getting in the way of true justice. It's part of the reason I left."

Valorum snickered and cut into the Waygu again. "An honest politician. How many of those have we seen?"

Palpatine shrugged and smiled thinly. "I serve the people, Finis."

"And they in turn serve us." Valorum said and finished the last of his wine. "In any event, I trust you won't be disappointed in the Chancellor?"

"No," Palpatine smiled and lied. "Chancellors are very powerful men. Kalpana will be no different."

"Good. I think His Excellency will be pleased." Valorum smiled. Palpatine repeated the gesture, and swiftly dropped it when Valorum left for the refresher.

He returned to his quarters in The Works later in the night. His master was waiting for him.

Plagueis sat with his legs crossed, perfectly upright, eyes closed, hovering a meter in the air. He was meditating, Palpatine thought. Doutbless, Plagueis had already discovered that his apprentice had returned.

"And?" Plagueis said quietly, eyes still closed.

"We have the support of the Chancellor, my master. Once I am elected I will...take care of him."

"Good." Plagueis' legs extended to the floor and he approached his apprentice. "And Valorum?"

Palpatine was marginally surprised that his master had felt Valorum's presence. Through the Force, beings could sense other places—other people—long gone, or yet to come. Indeed, at the Menarai—even in the company of dozens of other beings with no attenuation to the Force, Valorum had a slight…aura about him. Traces of the light. Kalpana's office had possessed those same traces.

The Jedi had associated with the Chancellor and his compatriots, Palpatine figured. Frequently.

He scowled. And continued.

"Valorum is Kalpana's attaché to my platform. He will help us."

"So certain are you?" Plagueis said, turning away.

"Yes," Palpatine said after a pause. "He will help me, whether he knows it or not."

In an instant, Plagueis shot around to face his apprentice. Bolts of blue light shot from his fingertips, trapping Palpatine in the glowing burn of lightning. He fell to his knees instantly and opened his eyes just enough to see his master. Bearing his teeth, feeding the lightning hatefully.

And the world went dark for a moment.

When Palpatine awoke, he recognized the dark iron of the ceiling. His body ached as he sat upright. He looked ahead, and saw his master standing motionless, just outside a radius of light emanating from the ceiling.

"I shouldn't have to tell you again." Plagueis' voice was calm and cold. Disparaging.

"M...master?" Palpatine asked, exhausted.

"This is not an exercise in friendship." Plagueis said. "This is not meant to be a weekend excursion with your friends. We answer to a higher calling, my apprentice. Not to the weak ambitions of corrupt Senators and bloated Chancellors. You cannot lower your guard, for they are judging you. Watching and judging and sensing your weakness. You must gain power by doing the exact same to them. Think as they do, and you will conquer."

He stepped into the light; the only clue of a man underneath the ebony cloak was a blue-colored chin shaped by a scowl.

"This is an operation between Us and Them. I have told you previously of the legend of Darth Bane, and the Rule of Two. Repeat it."

"Two there should be," Palpatine said dutifully. "No more, no less. One to embody power; the other to crave it."

"Now…tell me, my apprentice. Tell me what you regard as your greatest strength, so I will know how best to undermine you; tell me of your greatest fear, so I will know which I must force you to face; tell me what you cherish most, so I will know what to take from you; and tell me what you crave, so that I might deny you..."

"You…you cannot deny me," Palpatine said, slowly standing.

Plagueis sent lightning again, only by one hand this time and thus less powerful.

"One to embody power," the Master said. "And another to crave it." He flicked his wrist, and a lightsaber hilt slid into his hand. The crimson flame blinked to life, and Plagueis angled it at his apprentice's neck.

Plagueis inhaled slowly.

"You are not meant to make friends in pursuit of the revenge of the Sith. Your purpose is not to reason; your purpose is to **do**. To act, to think, to feel--as a **Sith**. As a servant of something far greater than the Force itself!"

Palpatine's eyes rolled in their sockets to meet those of his master, staring right back at him.

Plagueis switched his lightsaber off and slid the hilt back beneath the folds of his cloak.

"Against the power of the Dark Side…none can resist."

* * *

**_Continued..._**


	7. Chapter 5: Truth and Power

**Truth and Power**

_Three months passed. The Chommell Senator, Vidar Kim, was dead. _

The CorusPol report was scant on details, claiming Vidar Kim's accidental death by means of myocardial infarction. The rumors said it was a drive-by shooting; some thoughtless nerf in an air speeder looking for a good time had killed one of the senior members of the Galactic Senate of the Republic. Republicans in the Senate subscribed to conspiracies that Kim had gone underground to protest a forthcoming bill on Mid-Rim taxation. No one really knew what had happened, save that a hand with DNA matching Kim's was found outside a Coco Street diner, badly damaged, probably because of willful mangling.

A day after the incident, Finis Valorum contacted Palpatine at his private suite. But this was not the same Palpatine as previously known. He was different.

Not as cordial as before.

Palpatine's torture at the hands of Darth Plagueis only served to blacken his spirit—to further his hate for his master.

The endgame was coming soon.

* * *

The image of Valorum glowed blue and white, illuminated by a handheld com device. He was but 12 centimeters tall in the palm of Palpatine's hand.

"I wanted to pass along the news," Valorum said. His voice reeked courtesy. "It appears that Vidar Kim was killed last night."

"Yes, I know." Palpatine was motionless.

The holo-image of Valorum cocked his head to one side and frowned. "You… But how?"

"I make it my business to know."

Valorum frowned, his face of former brilliance looked withered. Confused. Tired. He sighed. "It means you're unopposed now."

"Excellent." Palpatine sounded like he'd just had an idea. "It seems our goals intersect, Finis. I shall announce my candidacy via the Holonet by the end of business tomorrow."

"The Senate will be expecting someone to stand up, by default someone who will support this bill."

"Bill?" Palpatine asked.

"Taxation of the trade routes. It's been gathering dust for a few months, waiting for just a quorum. Kim was about to bring it up, but, well…"

"I understand," Palpatine played along.

"In any case," Valorum said and collected himself. "If they ever decide to touch it, I sincerely hope you have some input."

Palpatine disregarded the praise. "I think…this bill is the least of our problems." His finger slid over the power button. "Good-bye, Finis."

"So long, friend."

The image of Valorum faded. Palpatine slid the device back into his pocket and saw his master enter the study. Plagueis looked…different. Old.

Palpatine had known for sometime that Plagueis' life-maintaining techniques would not and were not lasting long enough. Soon, Plagueis would have to forfeit his spirit to the Great Beyond, and leave his goals--the goals of the Sith--unfinished.

Deep inside, Palpatine was stirred by something. An unnamed force that told him to attend to his master. Perhaps a scientist's desire to learn; perhaps a masochist's desire to see suffering.

"Master?" he asked, joining Plagueis' side and wrapping an arm around a hunched shoulder. "You appear to be distressed. Is there—"

"Come." Plagueis' voice was surprisingly firm, for a man who looked on the icy verge of death.

Palpatine frowned. "What?"

"The shroud of the Force lowers, my apprentice. Soon, the ephemeral veil shall claim me. Before this comes to pass I wish to show you the nature and the source of my power."

"The midi-chlorians," Palpatine said. His voice was a mixture of curiosity and awe.

Plagueis nodded once. "To cheat death is a power only one has achieved. Before I pass into the great beyond…I wish to impart this knowledge to you. When we return, you shall be more powerful than ever before. Vidar Kim will be but a memory. And you shall have your seat in the Senate."

Plagueis' private ship reminded Palpatine of decorative silver blades he had on the walls of his office on Naboo. It was roughly the size of a small apartment, and no taller than nine meters. No larger than a desert skiff, with a hull of roughly the same consistency. Hardly the most effective means for hyperspace travel. And yet Plagueis had insisted. His time was drawing to a close, and he meant to share at least one lesson before his passing.

Before Palpatine followed the fashion of generations of Sith before him.

* * *

Plagueis' ship rocketed through the crystallized hyperlanes, set in auto-pilot to Yavin IV. Plagueis himself was sequestered in the aft quarters, deep in meditation. Palpatine said alone in the bridge, contemplating the immediate future.

He had the means, and the skill, and the knowledge. And still his master refused him—tortured him—until he'd had excised all manner of humanity from the would-be Senator. Palpatine had everything. And still his master refused him.

He lacked something. Both master and apprentice knew this. Yes…that was it exactly. Palpatine had ambition, and assumption. But he had no direction. He required a nexus to which he could direct his energy and time. He needed...an embrace.

A reason to become a Sith. To now it had been merely an accessory to furthering his goals. Palpatine resented the very idea that he was not yet a complete man—a complete Sith. It filled him with more hate. He wanted to reach the finish line, and he wanted to reach it soon. In his quiet moments, Palpatine sensed he was close.

Everything he'd done until now was simply...prefatory.

* * *

_Yavin IV. _

A lush and green gem orbiting the gas giant of the same name.

Thousands of years ago, Exar Kun, the instigator of the Great Sith War, had come to the forest moon and enslaved its native people. He wanted to become a god among men—among Sith even—and forced the native Massassi into slavery. To build temples for him and witness arcane rituals and ceremonies. Ceremonies meant to focus the energies and probe the deepest echelons of the Dark Side.

But Kun's labors were in vain. His apprentice, the rogue Jedi Qel-Droma, repented and died in the Light. Kun himself was forced to retreat to the forest moon, where he drew his power inward and placed his consciousness within the Massassi Temples.

But before he even started a war in the name of the Sith, Kun had found himself trapped in a rockslide on the desert planet Korriban, far in the Outer Rim. There he made a bargain with the spirit of Freedon Nadd to give himself to the Dark Side in exchange for life. Only then—only after complete surrender—would Kun gain the power to create and destroy. To force events to his favor. To mold the galaxy in his own graven image. _  
_  
Palpatine entertained a thought.

Life.

Kun had forestalled the inevitable by complete surrender to the Dark Side.

Complete surrender...

And on Yavin, facing death at the hands of encroaching Jedi, Kun drew his power inward. He saved himself by focusing his energy into a singularity of darkness.

This was Palpatine's epiphany.

This was how Plagueis had kept the woman alive, only for Palpatine to kill her again and again.

Plagueis' silver blade dropped out of hyperspace as a prismatic burst of reversion far away from Yavin's gravity well. He wanted to take the flight in manually.

He landed the blade in one of the few open plains on the planet. The one closest to a flat-top ziggurat that heralded the trappings of a Massassi Temple.

And the duo left the mechanical security of the blade for the humid and fetid Yavin Jungle. Plagueis led the way, walking slowly and purposefully toward the growing Temple in the distance. Palpatine followed, and stayed back from his master. This was unfamiliar territory. His fingers wrapped around the gilded lightsaber hilt at his waist.

"Your weapon," his master said, not bothering to look behind. "You will not need it."

Palpatine grew instantly annoyed. "What are we looking for master? What does this temple hold?"

"Only what we bring with us."

The interior of the Temple was vast. Sprawling.

Empty.

Palpatine was unimpressed. A ziggurat built millennia ago by a fearful race. The archaeologist in Palpatine suspected the contents—if there had been any—of the Temple had long ago been raided. But then…Yavin was supposed to be isolated. A mere afterthought on the maps and minds of Stellar Cartographers. Wasn't it?

Plagueis stopped in the center of the Temple and arched his head back to stare at a small hole at the apex. A single thin beam of daylight streamed through the hole. Plagueis took a step back and bowed, his head staring at the cracked and broken bricks in the floor.

"I call upon your spirit. I call with your blood to make a new way for me." Plagueis' voice was calm and appalling. "Blood for spirit. Spirit for order. Show me the form of the Dark Lord."

The voice wasn't a voice. At least, not in the traditional sense. Palpatine didn't hear it through his ears. He felt it in his head.

A voice warm and solid. It did not yell, it did not condescend. It wasn't terrifying or weak. It simply…was. Palpatine was motionless as the voice spoke to his mind.

_"I can feel the power within you."_

"What?" Palpatine asked, his eyes suddenly darting about the emptiness. "Who are you?"

_"Exar...Kun..."_

"Exar Kun is dead." Palpatine foolishly felt the need to correct.

_"Not anymore."_

Ahead of Palpatine, Plagueis stood and turned to face his apprentice. He folded his arms over his chest and stared, silent, at his apprentice.

_"Listen to me,"_ the spirit called to Palpatine. _"There is a place within you. Where you can see your power, where you can conquer your fear. Find it. Look down on yourself with pride, and behold the galaxy that denied you in anger. Takeyour power in your hands, and know it.  
_  
_"The Force is strong in you, Palpatine. You are destined…to follow the Sith of old. Your goals shall be those of our Order. Forever intertwined, the two shall be. Are you ready to begin?"_

"Yes," Palpatine heard himself say, his voice without hate or malice. With calm and clarity.

_"Kneel, Palpatine of Naboo."_

Palpatine kneeled. Bowed his head to the shapeless power around him.

_"You have the means, and the skill, and the power. It is your will to join with the Order of the Sith Lords?"_

"Yes."

_"To become one with the darkness, to learn and master its power."  
_  
"Yes." There was no hesitation.

_"It is finished, then. From this day forward, now and evermore. Your power, Palpatine of Naboo, shall be the power of the Sith. Darth..."  
_  
A pause. As long as a life age. As black as the cosmos.

The lifeless spirit said it, and filled Palpatine with vindication. Meaning.

_"Sidious." _

The truth...and the power. The very essence of what he would become. What he was.

Palpatine's head rose to stare at his master, staring right back at him. Plagueis smiled; the eyes burned a fierce red, the blue lips curled in a sick, amused grin. Palpatine said something he had not said in a very long time.

"Thank you."

* * *

_**Continued...**_


	8. Chapter 6: To Cheat Death

**To Cheat Death**

_Palpatine left Yavin IV a changed man. He was no longer Palpatine of Naboo, he no longer felt lost in the sea of darkness.  
__He had purpose. Meaning. __He had Sidious.

* * *

_

Plagueis' silver blade had just made the jump into hyperspace. Palpatine took to the Holonet to announce his intentions to fill Vidar Kim's seat for the Chommell Sector. He was unopposed after Kim's death—had the dear man lived, then there would have been a minimal cause for Palpatine to worry. But then…Palpatine did not worry about anything.

His concerns were better kept up his sleeve than on it. Announcing his intentions across the Holonet was a formality. A waste of time.

"Greetings," Palpatine said to the hoverdroid in front of him. The message the droid would being recording in a minute would be saved, catalogued in archives and disseminated to the beings and governmental centers in the Chommell Sector and on Coruscant, in the office of the Supreme Chancellor.

A natural orator, Palpatine felt comfortable speaking to an audience that would neither care nor reply to him. "I think its time I made a statement about how I seek to replace the esteemed Vidar Kim.

"Doutbless, some of you know me from my days serving the King of Naboo. In that august body, I was a conscientious leader, a steadfast supporter of His Excellency. I know I can bring those same traits to the Galactic Senate.

Palpatine spoke flatly. "I know the Senate requires a person of strong mind and sound body. To serve as an example to the thousands of star systems and trillions of beings who are citizens in this great Republic. Fellow citizens, if I am elected, I promise to put an end to corruption. If elected I shall see to it that these institutions will not die. The power you give me, I shall use to help those who need it most: the infirmed, the elderly, and the young—the second-class among us who struggle their entire lives for mere pittances when they deserve much greater things. Those whom society has cast aside in favor of larger pocketbooks and grandiose Senatorial appointments.

"I have been in the realm of public service all my life. I believe I can help you. I leave it your good graces to decide the matter. All I ask is your humble consideration."

Palpatine inhaled deeply. His chest rose with the act, and he looked a centimeter or two...bigger. It was a well-timed trick.

"I leave you with this: I promise you that I will reunite the disaffected among the people. I shall strive with every fiber of my being to restore the remembered glory of the Republic. Its loyal citizens should expect no less than a government that has the ability to aid them when they need it most. I can do this for you. But I need your help."

When Plagueis' blade had safely returned to its hangar in The Works, both master and apprentice disembarked. Both knew their plans were one step closer to fruition.

The problem lay in a simple philosophical difference.

Plagueis was a mystic. He found his power from within, feeding directly from the pulse of the Force. Sidious wanted power: pure, unadulterated, unlimited; Power he could derive from the life of those around him. There was but one snag in this.

Plagueis.

In his private moments, Plagueis' downfall was ever on Sidious' mind. He would achieve it by any means necessary. Even the loss of his own life.

Of course, that was never really an objection to Sidious anyway. Death did not frighten him. This was characteristic of Sith Lords: no fear. Not of themselves, not of their masters. And certainly not of other beings.

In his mind, Sidious was a god among insects. Maintaining that status was of preeminence to him.

Three weeks after his initial announcement via the Holonet, Palpatine was elected in a landslide by the thirty-six worlds, including Naboo, of the Chommell Sector. Palpatine had sensed the election was his. He felt it in his heart. In another formality, he returned to Naboo to await the results, in a series of day-trips constructed strictly to show his surprise and humility at the results.

Then Plagueis showed his face again, communicating to his apprentice via coded Holonet transmissions.

Palpatine, in guise as Sidious, paid close attention to his master. To his mannerisms. Plagueis was getting comfortable—acclimated. He thinks he's won, Palpatine thought. Foolish alien man.

"The election is ours, I trust?" The holoprojection winked and shuddered; the signal from Coruscant was weak.

Palpatine regarded his master silently.

"I have felt it," Sidious replied, justifying it.

"Indeed. Everything that happens from here is on a downward slope. Our victory is at hand," Plagueis said. And then vanished.

When the news broke that Palpatine had been elected, Naboo exploded in a media pandemic. Swarms of Holonet crews and reporters from Coruscant made the day-trip from the Core to see the elusive Palpatine. And Palpatine played the part excellently, accepting the accolades with humility and restating his Holonet speech in paraphrased terms. When they asked him how it felt to be a first-term Senator, he replied that he was merely "thrilled, pleased, and very excited."

The galactic media outlets were instantly in love with him and his platform of moderate reform. "Too many radicals on both sides of my pod would be ready to strangle me if I proposed anything **too** wild," Palpatine had joked. "And I don't know about you, but I intend to live a very long time."

Palpatine then left Naboo for the Core—as if it were the first time he'd ever done so—and sent for the remainder of his belongings. This included an abstract twist of solid neuranium—a perplexing item to have in anyone's personal effects. Perplexing because of its physicality: neuranium of more than roughly a millimeter thick was impervious to sensors, and standard security scans undergone upon Palpatine's arrival at Coruscant had shown nothing at all in the mineral.

On Naboo, manifest crews were loading it on a Senatorial transport. Palpatine himself supervised.

"The neuranium is of particular delicacy," he'd instructed. "Treat it well." One of five workmen attending the twist lost his grip on its backside. The neuranium left a steep dent in the transport's duranium floor, and the workman suffered a crushed hand after a failed attempt to break its fall. The neuranium was undamaged of course, but the workman apologized anyway.

"I-I'm sorry, Senator."

"It's all right," Palpatine had said warmly, clapping a hand on the workman's shoulder. The workman had bowed obediently and boarded. Palpatine followed, and took a seat in the cockpit, next to the pilot.

"Idiot."

"Sir?"

"Nothing," Palpatine had said flatly. In the rear hold, no other workman even laid eyes on the bumbling Secundus—the man who had carelessly dropped the good Senator's art.

* * *

Palpatine himself was given little time before the Senate was to convene for the next term's session. 

Upon occupying Naboo's pod in the Grand Arena—and truly, an Arena it was; some of the greatest Gamorrean-barrel politics of a thousand generations had begun in the Senate's concavity—Palpatine took his seat and obediently waited for the session to begin.

By the time Kalpana had approved the measure to lower taxes on Hutt Space—again—Palpatine was still motionless in his seat. Perfect posture, one leg crossed over the other and hands clasped together in his lap.

Palpatine was meditating, and making certain this action was masked from the Force via an arcane technique of which Plagueis had told his apprentice. Plagueis had called it "living in the light and the dark."

Bollocks to the dark side. To Palpatine—to Sidious—there was only the Force. What mattered was its utilization: for benefit or detriment. And since Palpatine was one to follow what he preached...he intended to benefit from its energies as long as he could.

Palpatine calmed himself, focusing part of his mind on the present, and another part on something...elsewhere. Elusive. Palpatine frowned. He sensed something—a tremor in the Force.

The representative from Rodia took the floor—Palpatine didn't know his name and didn't care. He winced at the prospect of Rodians in general. Disgusting, vile creatures, the lot of them. Concerned with money and possessions and firearms. So uncivilized.

Palpatine's eyes narrowed.

The Rodian deferred to the Congress of Malastare, and along with Kalpana they began a protracted elegy about something called the Katana Fleet. Palpatine looked around his immediate vicinity—the Ando senator was nodding off, his black eyes staring straight ahead belying his disinterest; Orn Free Taa was taking more interest in a slim-waisted and yellow-skinned Twi'lek female. No one was paying attention to anything but themselves.

He was surrounded by idiots.

* * *

Palpatine returned to his quarters at 500 Republica and took a light dinner. He forewent conferring with his master. When the Supreme Chancellor's office forwarded a message asking for an early breakfast and conference with the Jedi Council in the morning, Palpatine confirmed. 

He spent the rest of the night in meditation.

Plagueis had mastered the ability to sustain life. Palpatine knew this much. He was unsure if Plagueis also possessed the power to create life. To use the Force to create something from nothing. Certainly Plagueis had said so. But saying and doing? That's something else.

Sidious closed his eyes, purposely deprived his senses. And reached into the Force.

On the capital world alone, Sidious felt the individual presences of over five thousand people, most of them Jedi. Only one, a Sith. It required surprisingly little of Sidious' energy to render himself immaterial within the nexus of the Force—to take himself out of those five thousand. One of the inborn gifts Palpatine had been given, and which Sidious had perfected.

He reached past the Jedi.

He saw his master, on bended knee, in deep meditation as well. Palpatine sensed that just as he perceived his master, Plagueis had perceived him, despite the cloaking. Despite the cloaking. Plagueis was inventive like that.

Sidious scowled and pushed past his master. Widened the perimeter. The further out he perceived, the faster the telescope became. Galactic City. The planet. The Core. The Mid-Rim. Expansion Region. And...

The Outer Rim.

A small planet on the fringes of known space, its surface scorched by twin suns, long since strip-mined of any usefulness.

Sidious' focal point wandered. _Exar Kun..._

No. Focus.

There: the tiniest of settlements laced around a sea of sand and waste.

_He saved himself..._

Row-houses on the far side of town. Sidious pushed past the beings wandering about the town. They were insects. Helpless. Hopeless. Not a Force-sensitive among them, not even a human of ambition among them.

_By concentrating his energy inward…_

A woman Sidious estimated to be his own age, gathering mushrooms from a nearby moisture vaporator. Dark haired, face weathered by the elements and—

He reached deeper, seeking the woman's shatterpoints: sadness. Uncertainty. There was little more than that to her.

Sidious' brow furrowed. There was something…else. Everywhere and nowhere. Elusive.

_Kun made a deal with a demon..._

Something within the woman.

_A civil war in the name of the Sith..._

Another heart, almost. Sidious waited—and listened—and felt it.

There. Among the ocean of drones, something else stood out. Not quite a heartbeat; the development was not so advanced. But something. A vergence so nascent and imperceptible that even the most scrupulous Jedi might overlook it.

Palpatine opened his eyes.

Plagueis sat motionless in the hanger. He felt Sidious' arrival, and preceded the coming protests.

"Lord Sidious—" Plagueis said calmly.

"Tell me what you've done." Sidious' voice carried malice. "I saw her. A woman, on the planet Tatooine. You must have seen her as well. What have you done with this power of yours?"

"It is obvious you cannot see this. For one possessing foresight such as yours, I must admit you're here sooner than I expected."

"Sooner than you expected? How long were you planning to keep this from me?"

"I was planning," Plagueis said and stood, "to tell you. That should be enough for you."

"I want to know what you think you're up to," Sidious said.

Plagueis sighed. "Use your feelings, Lord Sidious. You know, don't you?"

Palpatine's eyes narrowed. Yes, he knew. Sadly, he knew. Plagueis stood and went to the balcony.

"The Chosen One," Palpatine said, barely, a whisper.

"The Jedi craft this particular bedtime story as the prophecy of the Chosen One; the child possessing astounding Force potential. He will be the living embodiment of the Force. And he will be a Sith."

Sidious' brow furrowed. "You...you've already done this?"

"Attempted, repeatedly. I haven't the ability to breach the gulf for a sustained period as of yet. With time and concentration, yes. But I sense an unusual amount of tumult in the Force. A barrier, perhaps, that seems to prevent me from carrying this experiment out to fruition."

"But you'll keep trying?"

Plagueis turned around slowly and gave a look of vague surprise. "I will not let this power develop unchecked. Do you understand, Lord Sidious?"

Sidious hesitated for a moment. His eyes narrowed, and he entertained a thought: Plagueis meant to supplant his apprentice. Sidious would be overlooked in the province of this Sith'ari, however emergent it was.

This could not be allowed.

* * *

_**Continued...**_


	9. Chapter 7: All the Best Parts

**All the Best Parts**_  
_

_Palpatine served the Senate dutifully. He was unassuming, humble. He performed errands for the Supreme Chancellor and most notably, for Finis Valorum. But Palpatine was by no means an outsider. He instantly made connections, investing capital and trust in organizations like COMPOR—the Committee for the Preservation of the Republic—and an old aide from Naboo. A man named Sate Pestage. _

In spite of his beneficence, Palpatine hid things. Fellow Senators on the Committee for Jedi Relations—a body in which Palpatine had insisted membership—viewed the Chommell Senator as cold and aloof. Senators like Orn Free Taa saw Palpatine as politely quiet. And to Senators like Bail Antilles—

Palpatine was a mystery.

The Republic had no room for mystery.

* * *

Palpatine had an early breakfast with Sate Pestage. Pestage himself had been an associate of Palpatine's in the days of Praetor Urbanus at Theed. He was a devout believer in Palpatine—quite possibly, the one being that truly understood him. It wasn't something to be announced over the Holonet though; Pestage ingratiated himself with Palpatine not out of loyalty.

But out of a shared philosophy.

Pestage called it "High Human Culture." And Palpatine listened intently while it was explained.

Pestage smiled. Thin lines around an alabaster face creased, and is deep set eyes came alive, if only for a moment. He sipped from a transparisteel goblet of Merlot. "The Republic is not what it once was."

"Yes, I know," Palpatine said.

"If it is meant to continue, it must be put in the hands of beings capable enough of daily administration—of compassionate administration. It must be entrusted to beings that know and have intimate passion for its custody."

Palpatine's eyes narrowed. He cut into the filet before him. And said: "You speak of a new government." It wasn't really a question.

"Yes," Pestage replied mildly. "One unbound by the petty restrictions of graft. A government clean and pure and direct. None of the messy scramble for the favor of the ignorant and the subhuman. The government we shall serve will be one cleansed of those inequities."

One of Palpatine's eyebrows angled sharply. Pestage continued. "The government we serve will be one of authority personified. Human authority."

_Hmm_, Palpatine thought. _This is curious. A being in my very midst who possesses a clinical distaste for those not like himself. Most curious_.

"Human beings," Palpatine said. "Ruling the galaxy."

"As we should," Pestage continued. "The only beings proficient enough to do so."

Palpatine finished the filet, reclined in his chair. "Convince me."

Pestage didn't wait. "Think of it. Human beings. We are all part of the great tapestry, my friend, and if we wish to create one of our own…we shall require all the best parts."

Palpatine scoffed. "Are we having this discussion, Pestage? You're beginning to sound like a revolutionary. And history does not smile on its revolutionaries. I would deign to say those cerulean guards outside Kalpana's office would shoot you down on sight."

"Then I apologise," Pestage said. "But my point stands. Dealing in humanity—with human culture as the paradigm by which galactic culture should be gauged—the situation changes."

Pestage leaned in close to the table and spoke to Palpatine almost in a whisper. "Aliens...subhuman beings…we cannot be so certain they are on our side. How are we to trace the complexities of their plots?"

"If any plots they have," Palpatine said. He remained unimpressed.

"That is exactly my point!" Pestage sat up in his chair and threw his arms in the air. "Nature abhors a vacuum, my dear Palpatine, and the unknown nature of their actions is a social and political vacuum. One that must be filled. I'm not obsessed with bringing them down. But with bringing us up."

"And you possess the power to do so?"

"Of course not," Pestage said, frowning and waving a hand expressively. "One small voice is nothing against a current. But if a movement is to be started, my friend, it requires one thing."

"All the best parts," Palpatine said.

"Yes," Pestage said plainly. "I'm merely circulating ideas. It takes another engine entirely to put those ideas in motion."

Palpatine sensed something within Pestage: passion. In the hands of a capable person, passion was quite the virtue. A palpable thing almost as real as the man himself. And if there's passion…there's desire. In Pestage, Palpatine saw it had a suitable host.

Passion.

For a change.

For a new order.

Palpatine smiled. "My dear Pestage...you wouldn't much like the change I seek."

* * *

At three that afternoon, Palpatine's presence was required at the Supreme Chancellor's office. Strangely, this was the site where the Jedi Relations Committee most frequently held meetings. Palpatine prepared himself en route. This would be a doubly-perplexing day. In one lane, Palpatine had to associate with and pretend he cared about Senators on the committee. And in the other—

Jedi.

Inside the transport, en route to the Chancellor's Office, Palpatine sighed.

It was only upon entering the Chancellor's office—-bedecked in the same cerulean color of the Guards that Palpatine felt he was truly in the Rancor's Den.

He noticed Kalpana's desk, at the far end of a tiered dais. The holoprojector jutting out from the center of the room like an eyesore. Five seats arranged in a concavity a meter from Kalpana's desk.

Each of them held a Jedi:

Oppo Rancisis, the aged Thisspiasian. Even Piell, the diminutive war-monger from Lannik. Yarael Poof, the Quermian with two brains too many. Yoda—the Grand Master, as Holonet reports had named the tiny green being. Each of them seemed ill at ease—-restless in their seats—-listening to Kalpana prattle on like a schoolgirl.

Palpatine stood silently behind and to the right of Piell, and noticed the fifth Jedi.

A woman, seated serenely between Poof and Rancicis. Dark hair draped motionless around the brown-colored shoulders of a Jedi robe. Eyes focused on Kalpana. On the here and now.

Palpatine felt something stir inside. Perhaps it was his heart growing a size, perhaps something else. This woman was...different.

Palpatine had been ingrained by his master to hate Jedi, irrespective of their species or even gender. But this Jedi—

No. He couldn't reach any further into the matter. Not without letting the rest of them in on the charade. And if that happened, ruin would follow.

The meeting went on. Palpatine volunteered, along with Valorum, to spearhead Kalpana's new Jedi Relations Committee. In said spot, Palpatine and Valorum would have continuous access to and interaction with the most esteemed of the Order. It was an opportunity Palpatine could nigh resist.

And he could nigh resist her.

Three hours later, the meeting let out. Palpatine made a point to catch the woman Jedi before she slipped away with Rancicis. She walked with a sanguine gait—the way most Jedi walked. The way a person could walk when he hadn't a care in the universe. Yes. This woman was calm personified. Her face, motionless and probing, as though she were examining the very souls of everyone she met.

She was strength, and power, and control in one beautiful form.

"Pardon me," he said, stepping in front of her. "I couldn't help but notice during the meeting—you must be new."

She smiled. "Master Rancisis' prerogative, Senator. As you well know."

"I wonder," Palpatine said, following her out of Kalpana's office in perfect lockstep. "If you would permit me?"

"I usually don't."

"Neither do I." Palpatine smiled and pulled the mini holo-com from the folds of his scarlet robes. He flicked a button and an image of a rose coalesced in the center.

"Parlor tricks," she said. "Quaint." She cocked her head. The corners of her mouth angled upward in a slight smirk. Ruby colored lips blended perfectly against olive skin. Palpatine suddenly felt very warm.

"Tell me..."

"Alura."

"Alura," Palpatine corrected himself. "Are you otherwise engaged this evening?"

"No," she said curtly.

"I have a place reserved at the Menarai," Palpatine said. His voice reeked courtesy. "I would be honored…if you would join me."

Alura stopped in her tracks and stared at Palpatine. She seemed to switch gears instantly--pleasure to business, a warm smile and glowing eyes indicating such.

"Certainly," she said.

Palpatine bowed graciously. They parted ways a moment later. Even in the air-taxi ride back to the Senatorial Apartments, Palpatine thought and lied to himself.

This worked well—intentionally, of course, with the teachings and goals Plagueis had instilled in him; fostering an attachment to this woman would give him an impromptu insight to the Jedi Council and their Ivory Tower politicking. And if things were to progress as Master and Apprentice had planned…Palpatine would be the wedge driven between her own life and the life she gave to the Jedi.

It was...a necessary loss.

The voice of his master echoed in Palpatine's head: _against the power of the Dark Side...none can resist.

* * *

_

Palpatine was due for his afternoon meeting with Plagueis when he received a Holonet message. Sate Pestage, looking preternaturally worried and about to fall over dead as usual.

"What is it?" Palpatine asked in a grim monotone.

"I thought you might be curious about our native soil, my friend." Pestage's expression said 'I know something you don't know.' Palpatine found it particularly irksome, and wore a brief scowl as evidence.

"And?"

"Veruna has ascended the throne." The holoimage straightened a bit and Palpatine detected a smile; this was Pestage being hideously and unduly pleased with himself. "He wishes to speak to you. At your convenience, of course."

"Then make it so, Pestage. As of this moment, consider yourself my attaché."

The holoimage fizzled and faded.

* * *

_**Continued...**_


	10. Chapter 8: What is Right

**What is Right**

_He couldn't get the image of the Sith'ari out of his head. _

Like the worst of nightmares, the nature of his master's scientific tinkering was ever on Palpatine's mind. Plagueis had been exploring the deepest concerns of the Force for months—years, ever since Palpatine had come into his service—and now the fruit of his labors was about to rear its ugly head.

Plagueis meant to supplant Sidious with this Sith'ari. Sidious felt it in his bones.

It was only a matter of time.

But in the meantime, there were other obstacles. Other goals. Palpatine wanted the Holocrons of old which the Jedi had so brazenly coveted.

He would do anything to get them.

* * *

He was late for the Budget Committee meeting with Kalpana. It didn't bother him, though. Every time Palpatine saw Kalpana, a slight part of the Chommell Senator died. The Chancellor was powerful, to be sure, but vacillating—weightless. Useless; he was no more than stepping stone.

En route, Palpatine forwarded a message to his master via encoded Holonet channels.

"I am but a step closer to ascertaining our ancient holocrons, Master. I will contact you again when I have them."

And it was true.

Over dinner at the Menarai, Alura had poured out her wealth of knowledge to Palpatine—after a few Devaronian spritzers, of all things. Holocrons, the Jedi Archives, even Masters on the Council. All of them replete with all manner of secrets and techniques of Jedi and Sith from millennia ago. The Archives were not merely a library. They were a society unto themselves.

One the Jedi liked to keep hidden from all but the most dedicated eyes. One to which Palpatine wanted access.

This was the primary function of Alura: to be the inadvertent method by which Sith holocrons could once again be in the hands of those who knew best their secrets.

When the day reached fifteen standard hours in the afternoon, and when the Senate was in full swing—listening to Ask Aak give an impassioned speech about flat-taxation to Malastare's western provinces—Palpatine simply stood from his seat in the Naboo pod and left the Grand Arena.

He slipped a hand inside the folds of his crimson robe and produced a handheld comlink. With a flick of the fingers, he opened a channel to Alura.

Beautiful as ever, the holoimage was of her seated with crossed legs and hands held motionless in her lap.

"Am I interrupting?" Palpatine asked.

"No," the holoimage said. Eyes still closed. "I was just finishing up."

"A meditation?"

"Something like that. You simply must try it sometime; I imagine the Senate is quite taxing." The holoimage stood, the eyes opened, and Alura smiled fondly.

"Sounds intriguing." This was Palpatine patronizing, and doing it without her knowing. Even the best acting kept the Force at bay—after a fashion.

"It is," Alura said. "What do you want, Palpatine?"

"Do you remember what we spoke of last night?"

"The holocrons, yes." Her voice was instantly flat. "Why?"

"I wondered if you would be so accommodating as to--"

"Darling, we've been over this. You know I can't do that. I don't even have the proper clearance to see them. Let alone take them out."

Palpatine hung his head and gave a perturbed look. "You're certain?"

"Quite." She was unflinching.

"All right," Palpatine replied distantly. Are we still on schedule for tonight?"

"Yes," Alura said, smiling. "Galaxies Opera House. I hear they've made a zero-G play of _Killik Twilight_."

"Excellent," Palpatine said, cracking a thin smile. "See you then."

He switched off the comlink. By the time he arrived at the shipyards, a transport was waiting for him. Alura was of no help at all. If she would not aid his cause, Palpatine would be forced to make his blood and circuses elsewhere.

Time-consuming, but worth every minute if he were to achieve this latest gambit.

* * *

The sunset over Galactic City was...inspiring.

Palpatine traveled to the Opera in an open-air taxi, letting the wind wash over him. As the taxi pulled away form 500 Republica, he put in a call to Sate Pestage.

"Palpatine," Pestage smiled. "Left in a hurry, I noticed."

"Did I miss anything?"

"No. They voted down the Malastare extension, as expected. I had to pull some favors from our Neimoidian friends, and Orn Free Taaa won't shut up about you. He wants a meeting."

"Then give him one. Day after tomorrow."

Pestage bowed. "You're on your way to the Opera?"

"Yes. See you soon." Palpatine didn't wait for a response. He pocketed the comm and reclined in his seat, feeling the wind again.

A wind of change.

* * *

Two cerulean-clad Senate Guards were waiting outside Palpatine's private box, flanking the threshold on either side—a benefit of the patronage the Opera enjoyed from the Chommell Senator. Alura didn't need to speak; as she approached, one of them extended a welcoming hand toward the threshold, smiled through his helmet, and said "you're expected." The courtesy was striking to Alura.

The small round box held four seats, only two of them occupied. One by Palpatine and the other by a man in a simple cloak and head-dress. Beyond the box, a zero-g opera show was going on. Humans in poorly-contrived Killik mock-ups were performing a rendition of Denta's "Immolation," where the Killik's mythological founder was guided through the netherworld by the most famous bard in the planet's history.

_Netherworld_, Alura thought with disdain. _There is no netherworld. Only the Force._

In the dim trappings of the Killik Twilight, Palpatine sat with his private aid, Sate Pestage; a man introduced to Alura only through Palpatine mentioning the name in passing.

Alura hesitated before stepping forward.

_This is a mistake. A mistake. He's not a Jedi and you know it. And even if he were..._

"Palpatine," she said, suddenly standing next to him. He turned to see her and smiled warmly.

"Yes, Alura. I'm so pleased you made it. Do come in, have a seat." Palpatine leaned over to Pestage and said grimly, "leave us."

Pestage stood quietly and left. Without a word. Alura took his seat.

Palpatine watched the opera for an interminable time longer. Alura sat and watched him closely; reached through the Force, kept her outward appearance motionless to dispel any suspicion, and searched for Palpatine.

Behind the warm smile, she felt--

Nothing. Not even a speck of Force-sensitivity in the man. As if he were simply...there. Not adept in the least.

"Are you enjoying the Twilight, my dear?"

His voice was sudden and calm, and caught Alura off-guard. She immediately left the Force and focused on the present.

"Yes," she said, trying to hold firm. "Are...you?"

"Quite so," Palpatine said indifferently. "It is a welcome respite from the rigors of a day." He turned to her with raised eyebrows and pursed lips. Waiting for a response. "Would you agree?"

"Yes." This was Alura being uncomfortable. Thoroughly.

_And even if he were…he'll act on this. And you'll fall for it. You're a fool, Alura, if you think nothing will come of this. The idea of seeing a Senator--even one as curious and interested in the Archives as you--that's something else entirely.  
_  
"Do you...remember what we discussed yesterday?" Palpatine asked. As if she didn't know. Of course she did. She knew what they discussed, and she knew what he wanted. And she couldn't allow it.

The Code couldn't allow it.

"Yes," she said, craning her neck to see him. "But I see no purpose in raising the issue again."

Palpatine inhaled deeply. "You're still unwilling to make sacrifices."

"This is no mere sacrifice. You want me to break the Code. And you know I cannot do that." She wanted her point to get through Palpatine's thick skull, even if it took her all night. "I will not sell myself for a momentary gratification. I leave that to you and the rest of the politicians."

Palpatine shifted in his seat, making visible his irritation. Alura registered it as trying to get comfortable. He turned to her with a single eyebrow peaked.

"You don't think much of the Senate, do you?"

"No," she said promptly. And she didn't regret saying it either. "The galaxy is much larger than you and your cohorts pretend it to be, and yet you ignore its problems continuously. You sit in your seats of inscrutable power and pass judgment on those who can't pass it on you. You decide what's best for them without any say from the other side of the aisle."

"But you're a Jedi," Palpatine said thickly. "The type of person who operates outside the law—and the will of the people. Shall we talk about true accountability?"

"Oh come now," she replied. "Neither of us believes that, unless you've been listening to Master C'Baoth lately."

"I haven't," he said. Though…

"You've asked me repeatedly to look at the Holocrons, Palpatine. And I've repeatedly refused. It is a concept of morality, and I'm doing what I believe in."

Alura stood and straightened her robes.

"Sometimes I wonder if you know what that's like."

And without another word, Alura turned and left. Palpatine continued to watch the opera. Sate Pestage returned a minute after Alura left, resuming his old seat. He sighed and looked at Palpatine.

"So," Pestage said. "That went well."

Palpatine snickered and replied; his gaze still locked on the Twilight.

"She will not help us," Palpatine said, with the strange hint of a man who knew better.

"Then she's of no further use. I should think your master would come to a similar conclusion." Pestage spoke without hesitation. With conviction.

Palpatine's eyes narrowed. "Yes," he said. "You're right."

* * *

_**Continued...**_


	11. Chapter 9: Change

**Change**

_Palpatine went to see his Master; it had been some time since they last spoke. Part of the Senator suspected Plagueis had no further use for Palpatine. _

Or possibly, that Plagueis was directing his time and energy toward the Sith'ari, and could not be bothered with the intentions of Lord Sidious.

Yes…

Palpatine already sensed that his time was coming. That Plagueis would soon try to supplant him with the Sith'ari. Palpatine had never been one to stand back and let history have its way with him.

He would change this.

He would change lives.

* * *

"What is it?"

Plagueis spoke quietly and calmly. He'd already sensed his apprentice approaching.

"I wish to speak to you about the Sith'ari."

"Again?" To now, Plagueis had been seated, cross-legged, on a dais. The panorama in front of him gave a spectacular view of Coruscant at midday. Geometric lines of traffic traversed the amber sky, and skyscrapers rose out of the ground like silver and ebony stems.

"Do you see a purpose in this Sith'ari, Master?" Palpatine asked.

"I see none in discussing it."

Plagueis opened his eyes, lifting from meditation, and stood. From his vantage, Palpatine only saw a scowling jaw line among the folds of his master's robes.

"Why have you come, Lord Sidious? Surely you have better things to do. The romancing of your Jedi friend, perhaps?"

"She is a tool, my master. Nothing else."

"Of course," Plagueis said. He began pacing in a tight circle around Palpatine.

"You've heard these arguments before," Plagueis said slowly, ensuring that Palpatine heard every word. "The Sith'ari is not a weekend playtime exercise. It is a serious exploration into the deepest aspects of our being. He will be powerful, Lord Sidious. Ever so much more than wielding a mere lightsaber."

Palpatine was silent.

Plagueis sighed and continued. "I sense much fear in you, my apprentice. The fear of…replacement."

"Yes." The word was effortless.

"Fear not," Plagueis said. "This Sith'ari is a tool. Nothing else. You on the other hand, are power. Incarnate."

"Yes."

"I sense," Plagueis said thoughtfully, "something else. Elusive. You…care for someone." Plagueis' voice was of clinical distaste.

Palpatine allowed his master to search for her.

"Yes," Plagueis said, half-impressed. "A Jedi, of all people. If I wasn't so certain you would betray her, I would be angry. But you have little respect left for this woman. Or little use."

"That is correct," Palpatine said, his voice heavy with annoyance.

"You relish the power you possess, my apprentice? Do you feel it growing in you?"

"Absolutely."

"Then you require an outlet for that power." Plagueis smiled thinly. Palpatine nodded once, his eyes burned with passion.

Or hatred.

Plagueis didn't care which.

"Find this Alura woman of whom you are so enamored, and kill her. If she will not help you in acquiring the Holocrons, then she has no further reason to live."

"Master?"

"Her death will further immobilize the Council," Plagueis said without hesitation. He turned away and strode down the corridor, his words echoing back. "Make it look like an accident—suicide perhaps—something the Jedi frown upon. Something that will give us a degree of latitude. And further bind you to the Dark Side."

* * *

He hated it when Plagueis mentioned the "Dark Side."

He'd heard it many times before, and it still angered him. There was but one Force—unifying, ubiquitous, and ripe for the plucking. It remained only for Palpatine to take advantage of its wonders.

But...this was no advantage.

Standing over Alura as she lay sleeping. Peacefully, and perfectly unaware that she was about to become one with the Great Beyond.

Death.

The only great adventure.

And yet Palpatine himself yearned for something greater than mere adventure. He wanted...release.

A memory. Yes, that was it. Palpatine hated the theme of history—that the losers would be forever consigned to its annals. Forgotten to all but the most scrupulous of eyes, to those who made some kind of living glorifying the dead and the defeated. No…Palpatine had greater things in mind. He did not wish to be the afterthought of some child at Academy.

He wanted to live.

Forever.

To light up the sky like a flame. All in the name of self-preservation.

Because in his mind, Palpatine was the star of his own show. Nothing else mattered—and anyone else in the show was backdrop. Witness to a much larger tapestry being woven. Such backdrop couldn't be bothered with minutiae of life and death. Such quantities were an unknown to the Common Man.

Palpatine was focused ever on the future. To the horizon.

But here. Now.

There was only Alura—very asleep. And Palpatine standing over her, with a lightsaber hilt growing steadily heavier in his hand. He daren't press the activator. That would be…ruin. No, it was unthinkable. To destroy such a marvelous--

_(specimen)_

--Human being…would be, well, evil. Palpatine found himself chortling at the thought.

Evil is a point of view. And the Jedi concept of good is not the only valid one.

It had to be done. He knew this. If she would not be swayed, she would be destroyed.

Palpatine's ring finger slid over the bronze activator. A blade the color of blood and death sprang to life in his hand. He lifted the blade over his head, ready to strike her down.

With all of his hatred.

Deep inside, Palpatine wondered what the point was._ Plagueis. He had been the engineer of this latest scheme._ _Killing an innocent Jedi so he may sleep soundly at night. This—_

Palpatine looked at the woman sleeping in her bed. A frown wore across his face, and he lowered the lightsaber for a moment.

_—this is murder._

And yet...you forget your place, Lord Sidious. The Jedi are relentless. Countless wars of old have demonstrated this. They will not rest until they find the Sith—Master and Apprentice—and kill them. Along with those who conspire against the great and powerful Jedi Council.

Yes. They must be stopped.

In the shadows of his mind, Palpatine made flawless logic of the situation.

This was the only way.

And before he brought the lightsaber down in one swift stroke, cleaving Alura's neck in a perfect symmetry, separating one charred hunk of flesh and Jedi from another, Palpatine said simply:

"I loved you. But I couldn't save you."

* * *

**_Continued..._**


	12. Chapter 10: To Windward

**Reorganization**

_His master gave him a new assignment. A field trip to Iridonia to uncover what Plagueis called "a vergence."_

_But Sidious couldn't be bothered to leave the capital. The vergence would announce itself, when the time was right. Palpatine was confident of this. _

He sent a drone ahead with pre-recorded images of himself. The images would relay back to Plagueis that Palpatine intended to stay on Iridonia for some time. If Plagueis meant to see progress, he would get it. After a fashion.

Meanwhile, there were more important avenues. Other situations that required Palpatine's focus. Finis Valorum had swamped Kalpana in the election for Supreme Chancellor.

Palpatine meant to capitalize on that.

* * *

Palpatine invited Sate Pestage to lunch at his private suite.

"Thank you for having me."

Palpatine bowed and smiled curtly. A wizened, grandfatherly smile that put Pestage immediately at ease. Despite knowing that Palpatine was anywhere but old. He'd never asked about it, but Pestage suspected the Chommell Senator to be quite over the hill. But not golden. Not yet anyway.

"You're quite welcome. Are you hungry?"

"Is the day so long?" Pestage smiled dimly.

Palpatine extended a hand to a transparisteel table and angled seats. Pestage took the hint and sat.

A caterer brought the hor's d'ouerves. Pestage made a small motion and noticed the silk patch on her breast pocket: 500 RepubliCatering. When she left, Pestage stared after her with a thin smile.

Palpatine cleared his throat and Pestage turned back.

"Apologies."

"No need." Palpatine waved a hand expressively. "Not anymore."

One of Pestage's eyebrows angled sharply.

"Do you wish to talk about it?"

"No," Palpatine said plainly. "Now...report."

"Ah, yes. Glad you asked." Pestage smiled gleefully and bent over in his seat, pulling a handheld comlink from his satchel. "As I've said, Veruna wishes to speak to you, at your convenience. I might point out that you've been holding out on him for weeks."

"And?"

"And he's getting anxious. Restless. He may just refuse whatever it is you have in mind."

Palpatine rolled his eyes. "Veruna is a fool. He won't get anywhere by playing hardball--especially by playing it with me."

Pestage's eyes lowered to his food. He knew well enough not to press Palpatine on certain things--especially matters of the Senate and its leader. And he finished the crab legs in silence.

"And how is Valorum?" Palpatine seemed to ask it almost as an afterthought. Like it wasn't even on his radar. "Has he turned the Chancellor's office into a brothel yet?"

"He's ambitious, but he's easily controlled. Perhaps you can use that." Pestage shrugged irritably.

"You sound upset."

"Almost. He's not right for it."

Palpatine looked up with a scrutinizing gaze.

"And who is...right for it?" he patronized.

Pestage said effortlessly: "You."

Palpatine stood, and went to the window. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood motionless, staring out at the expanse of industry and city. In the distance a latticework of sky traffic ran across darkening skies.

It occurred to Pestage that the view was...odd.

And it struck him as unaccountably sinister that Palpatine's suite was uniformly colored red. It made the whole setting seem like something out of a dream...no. Nightmare.

"Sate." Pestage flinched at the uterance. Palpatine never called anyone by their first name.

"…Yes?" Hehesitated before answering.

"What do you know of the Sith lords, my friend?"

"Only what I remember from grade-school lessons. Why do you ask?" Pestage leaned back in his chair and cracked his knuckles. It was a nervous tic, and this—

Well, this was especially nerve-wracking. Palpatine hadn't been this...this peculiar in months. He'd been energetic. Jovial. Even friendly. Pestage almost wondered what accounted for the change.

"What's going on?"

It came without effort. Palpatine says the words, and Pestage is entirely caught off guard.

"I killed her."

"What?"

"Alura. She's dead."

Pestage's brow furled momentarily. His eyes lit up in sudden realization. "The Jedi?"

"Yes."

"Really?" Pestage let out a single chortle and sat back in his chair, smiling in that smug and worm-like fashion. "I told you she would never help you."

Palpatine turned away from the window, his face shouting hatred.

"How fortunate I am to have an associate who sees fit to lecture me." Each word was forceful and biting. Pestage had overstepped his bounds; he knew it. Part of him was simply waiting for the lightsaber to slice through his chest.

"I'm sorry," Pestage said, bowing his head.

Palpatine sighed. "A casualty of circumstances, my friend. In any event, I've already disposed of the body, and planted a suitable excuse should anything be traced back."

"You've thought of everything?" This was Pestage's incredulity.

Palpatine turned back to him—

"Just everything the Jedi will ever think of."

—and began pacing. In the distance, the sun slipped out of view. Amber and pastel streaks crossed the sky. Pestage gave the sky one last glance, and stood. Made for the door, but stopped short and faced the Chommell Senator again.

"Out of curiosity...and it is not my place to ask, but...why did you kill her?"

Palpatine suddenly wore a scowl.

"She said no to me."

* * *

Palpatine put in an appearance to Veruna that afternoon.

Veruna was remarkably...unremarkable. On seeing the bloated and overindulged corpus of Veruna through the void of the Holonet, Palpatine was instantly annoyed. Here was a man who showed no apparent restraint and would likely apply those same practices to Theed. He was a fatter version of Kalpana; just as vapid and clueless and self-important.

Still, Palpatine wore his Dejarik face that day, appealing to what little sense of decorum Veruna had.

"Congratulations on your election, Your Highness." Palpatine spoke affably and relaxed. Despite personal misgivings, he realized Veruna was useful.

Indeed, as he spoke to Naboo's new Sovereign, Palpatine reached into the Force.

And he saw the future.

A future where Veruna didn't matter—a good omen in its way. A future where a young girl…would be his doorway to ascension. Yes. A young girl with a penchant for outlandish garb and impassioned speech. Even to Palpatine she was attractive—beautiful in a clinical sense.

But for now, Palpatine focused on the obese fraud before him, shimmering blue with the distance of light years. He felt nothing around the King. Veruna himself was a non-entity within the Force. But Palpatine sensed fault lines around the man. At the periphery of his being, Veruna glowed dimly. Palpatine's eyes narrowed, and he saw it.

Somehow...Veruna had a role to play.

Palpatine dismissed the possibility and contented himself thinking that Veruna's sole purpose was simply to be used. It was noble, for a man whose sole aspiration was to mediocrity.

"Thanks to you, Senator; your support has rallied for my installation. Together, I feel, we can once again make Naboo prosperous."

Palpatine smiled graciously. "Of course, Your Highness. Now, what was so important that it couldn't wait?"

Bright red circles in Veruna's cheeks curved in a toothy smile. A rather morbid assortment of browned and crooked teeth jutted from behind his stretched lips.

"I wish to speak to you about the Privy Purse--ways we can expand our revenues, in short. Perhaps we could arrange a more suitable meeting? At your convenience, of course."

"My dear King, it may be difficult to secure that." Palpatine wore a false expression of concern; creased brow and downturned mouth. Ashamed without being ashamed. "We've just elected a new Supreme Chancellor, and the corporate interests are beginning to take a renewed interest in political affairs. I fear a certain upheaval is in store for us here on the Capital, and I must be here to di"

The latter was partly true. The Trade Federation, largely quiet since its inception almost two centuries ago, had recently thrown its doors open again to speak of wider profit margins and higher taxes. The Federation and their newest Viceroy, a worm Neimoidian Palpatine didn't care to know, wanted economic courtesies. Handouts. The kind Kalpana had so willingly given to the Hutts, of all beings.

"I understand that, Senator. I'm merely asking for your advice on a few minor issues. You are, after all, our liaison to the Capital, yes?"

"Yes."

"And does that not entail a certain…airing of grievances?"

"Indeed it does, Your Highness. But hardly think of me as a complaint department. That is not my job or my intention."

Veruna's eyes narrowed and the hologram shifted its posture a bit. Palpatine suspected this was Veruna showing discomfort. He made no overtures of hiding it, either. The long and short of it, Palpatine had briefly and correctly surmised, was this: Veruna wanted a punching bag. One he could throw against a wall until the entire Senate would listen to the small backwater Naboo.

The universe was more complicated than that. Palpatine had little respect for those who did not respect him.

Alura. Kalpana. Even Valorum.

And now, this puling fraud flickering before Palpatine wanted something.

He would give them what they deserved. All in good time.

* * *

_**Continued...**_


	13. Chapter 11: Reconciliation

**Author's Note:** The scrupulous among us know that I'm contravening apparently-established continuity regarding the species of Lord Plagueis. But then...I never liked Muuns, and the announcement of his canon species came after I'd originally scribed this installment. So I hope the following depiction isn't too wild for your imaginations. Happy reading.

* * *

**Reconciliation**

This is Darth Plagueis:

A mystic.

A magician.

Long ago--the natives of Bpfassh would have said 'many moons'—his official title had been Religious Cleric of the Ruling Families, on the planet Csilla. He had seen some remarkable people in that place, but...he never felt truly at home.  


He served the Ascendancy dutifully—as a good cleric of the Families does. Made acquaintances and secured societal standing. And he tried to hide an emerging power he possessed. The power to intuit the future and sway it to his fortune—the power to save and preserve lives.

But then, a small Expeditionary Force had come to Csilla, claiming authority of the Galactic Republic, and snagged Plagueis at a young age. The Ascendancy was set against it, but the Expedition insisted. "He has great power," they'd said. "Power that can be put to use in the service of the Republic."

The Ascendancy refused the Republic's overtures, and a small skirmish was made. Ten of fifty-five Expeditionaries returned to Coruscant with a very clear message:

Stay out.

_Plagueis remained. In league with a young and powerful Aristocra, Plagueis had almost single-handedly killed those Expeditionaries. The experience gave Plagueis his first bloodlust. And he left Csilla, scant hours after the murders, contravening centuries of tradition by dishonorably leaving his post. _

Despite the breach in tradition, the Ascendancy had empathized and granted him safe escort to their borders. They didn't even protest. Part of Plagueis hated them for that. He had given some of the best years of his life to the Ascendancy, and true to form they had overlooked him. Taken him for advantage.

And he hated the Expeditionaries. Unbidden and unwelcome invaders from the so-called "Republic" had intended to take Plagueis' destiny out of his own hands. This was unforgivable.

The Ascendancy had granted him a parting gift: a reasonably-sized craft capable of long range hyperspace travel. Plagueis used it to travel to Onderon and its moon, where the disembodied spirit of a long-dead Sith Lord had haunted his dreams.

A religious cleric would be expected to know of the so-called "state religion." the Jedi.

And their opposite number…

* * *

He stares out into the ecumenopolis that is Coruscant, and he doesn't even need to open his eyes. He doesn't have to turn his head to see his apprentice waiting for him. 

He doesn't even need to reach into the Force.

The Force reaches into him.

The universe becomes a crystallized brilliance. Across the capital world, Plagueis can see the points of light of particular Force adepts. Plagueis reaches across the Galactic City, to the Jedi Temple. The quintuple-spired ziggurat is light itself. A structure built and maintained by generations upon generations of Jedi. Each of them melding and interacting and feeding their respective essences to the Force and to the building. Plagueis felt himself sneer at the thought.

The ziggurat of light filled Plagueis with questions.

_Who _and_How _were peripheries. What truly mattered was _why_.

Why does the patriot fight for that which he barely knows and has never done without? Why does the mother care for her child so ardently when she knows he will simply grow up and die like everyone else. Why do the Jedi fight to keep a dying animal alive.

Passion.

To Plagueis, this answered everything.

The Jedi were in love with the Republic. And that was a cardinal sin to the earth-toned robes crowd. Jedi were not permitted to love, or covet, or even appreciate…Nature. They were not allowed and thus ill-equipped to have personal relations with anyone save those sharing the ivory towers. And this meant they were weak. Blind.

Perfectly susceptible to a trap—the kind of trap Plagueis and millennia of Sith before him had been quietly engineering. But a Jedi trap was more problematic than snaring a rat in a cage. The Jedi were cleverer than an average rat, though it pained Plagueis to admit it.

Again: _why_.

Because…they love.

Love is not passion. Passion is heated—boundless enthusiasm. Martyrdom. Love? Dedication and foolish promises between two beings unwilling and unable to take them seriously.

Love was the way to the heart of the Jedi. The key to their destruction, and the final stage of the revenge of the Sith.

They would strike at the heart. Disable the Order to the universe around it. And when the Force had grown sufficiently dark? Well…

Treachery is the way of the Sith.

* * *

Palpatine gave instructions to the Senate Guards that he was not to be disturbed. Not even by Pestage. The power in his voice had convinced the guard enough. 

Palpatine's suite was on the top floor of 500 Republica. Lights were dimmed, solar shades in place over the windows. The sitting room was darkness. And a deeper shadow sat cross-legged in the center. Darth Sidious. Dark Lord of the Sith.

The very name was vindicating.

Months ago, Sidious had been meditating. Had been exploring the ethereal tendrils of the Force. Those tendrils had led him to an impoverished desert planet. And a contingent of rowhouses on the south end of a particular settlement.

He had sensed something there. In a woman picking mushrooms off a nearby moisture vaporator. There was her heartbeat, and then something else. A surge within her. As if the crystal perception of the Force had suddenly caused this slave to sprout…life.

The evidence was, frankly, thin. Palpatine had little other than a cutting instinct. Without a body and without the slave woman showing any sign of the so-called Sith'ari…Sidious had nothing.

Except questions.

Plagueis had been speaking of the Sith'ari at some length, ever since returning from Yavin IV, and Sidious had been thinking of the Sith'ari at some length.

That woman on that desert planet knew something, or perhaps—even better—she was the vehicle for the Sith'ari.

Sidious gave a quiet noise of impression. Or discontent.

The leitmotif of the "Chosen One" was not balance or some manner of equity within the Force.

It was belief.

The belief that one can be part of something extraordinary. The belief that one holds within his very soul the power to change lives and events—for better or for worse. For the present or for the future.

It was choice.

In the one hand, there existed the "Dark Side." And in the other—

Jedi.

They believed fully in the Dark Side, and they feared it. In the Chancellor's office so many months ago, Palpatine had sensed a micron of fear in Yoda. A micron is the perfect start to something larger. The Jedi believe in equity. That life must be fair and a level for all the children of the Universe.

Life was more complicated--more interesting than that.

The Jedi believe in balance, and that the Sith'ari—their "Chosen One"—will be the means by which balance can be attained and kept. They disregard thought, instead relying on…instinct. A millennium of Jedi had been blind to the other side of the argument. A millennium of Jedi had not thought.

Thinking People need not apply.

The Sith'ari is power.

And the realization that with that power comes the opportunity to make things the way one wishes them to be. To hold the universe in one's thrall. To believe that one can change the universe on the most fundamental of scales. To believe that you are meant for something extraordinary, that your life is not meant to be lived inside some office. No, you are meant for far greater things.

And finally, the power to act on that belief. The belief that the path you will follow is the only way.

That once you start down the "Dark Path"…forever will it dominate your destiny. Consume you, it will.

Sidious drew a deep inspiration.

He could live with that.

* * *

_**To Be Concluded...**_


	14. Chapter 12: Out of Many

**Author's Note:** if you're reading this it means that we've arrived together at the final installment, and so I must offer my most heartfelt congratulations to you, Constant Readers. You've stayed with this for the past weeks and for that I'm exceedingly grateful. Thank you, and enjoy.

**

* * *

**

**Out of Many…**

_It was Sidious' particular trait that he could intuit the future. If the Jedi had Mace Windu and his ability to see shatterpoints…then Sidious had the power of clairvoyance. He could see the future, and he could perceive the prism of possibility that lay therein. _

He could see the desert planet and that slave woman—could see the life beginning in her. Plagueis' labors were fast bearing fruit, and rather than suffer replacement at the hands of some nondescript, Palpatine would head off the trouble.

In time, Sidious would take the Sith'ari as his apprentice. To be molded in the ways of the Sith. For this to occur, Plagueis had to die. An infant, even one carved in the desert crucible of the Outer Rim, could not ascertain the revenge of the Sith. Not immediately.

But a child from Iridonia? One sufficiently deprived and sufficiently motivated to serve Sidious exclusively?

He would do. For the time being.

* * *

En route to his master's quarters in The Works, Palpatine forwarded a message to Sate Pestage.

"Palpatine," Pestage said with a curt smile. "What can I do for you?"

"You can tell me about Veruna."

Pestage smiled. "I thought you might bring that up."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. He's perfectly unwilling to play along with your office and with Valorum. To be honest, I don't think he yet realizes how, ah, influential having friends like us can be for him."

"He's not a gifted man intellectually," Palpatine said. "But for the foreseeable future he will serve our purposes."

One of Pestage's eyebrows arched. His features withered and belied the youth and charm behind them.

"You're…willing to deal with the rabble?"

"Yes," Palpatine said, inclining his head slightly. "When the time is right…we will reveal ourselves."

"Understood, master." Sate Pestage was a brilliant politician. And he didn't get that way by signing a lot of checks. He got that way by knowing when to agree, when not to, and when to not ask questions. Especially of Palpatine.

"We shall wait. Until things are as they should be," Palpatine said calmly. "Unrelatedly, Call Doriana; tell him his apartment is ready. And find Tarkin. Tell him I wish to speak with him at his earliest convenience."

"Yes, master." Pestage gave a humbled smile.

Palpatine was already switching off the comm.

* * *

_All life is interconnected._

Sidious knew this.

Aside from the ever-present and ever-false assumptions of Light and Dark, the universe operated on a scale of harmony. On a scale of death, birth, and resurrection.

A species can rise and fall in the geological blink of an eye, and leave no imprint on the history records. And sometimes a species can begin as a single cell in a pool of bubbling primordial ooze and become the dominant form of life across the stars.

_That's the one worth remembering._

In a thousand years, no one will remember the name Darth Plagueis, the Sith Lord who wouldn't do what he needed to do.

Inaction angered Sidious on a fundamental level. Plagueis wanted to spend more time sitting in his parlor considering the myriad recesses of the Force, rather than doing something—anything. He wanted to understand the Force. Sidious wanted to control it.

As Palpatine he had put up a convincing front. Thousands of Senators had aligned with him as part of the Rim faction. Said faction opposed the increasingly corrupt administration of Finis Valorum, and Palpatine had all their ears and their votes. He had taken a stance against Veruna of Naboo, the overweight and overwrought King who saw fit to build Theed on the blood and sweat of the oppressed.

But Palpatine wasn't in the Senate for the people. Palpatine could care less about the people.

The Senate was merely a means to an end.

* * *

All life is interconnected. 

_Peace is a lie, there is only passion._

Palpatine was Plagueis, and Plagueis was Palpatine. That didn't change anything, though.

All the elements of the universe are born in the supernovae of dying stars. When those celestial bodies became no more, the sum of their parts spread across the cosmos in a shockwave of…creation. Focusing on a point of gravity in space, coalescing together into ancient iterations of planets, those parts laid out the very schemata for life.

That was the way of things. The way of the Force.

Skeletal hands wrapped around a gilded lightsaber hilt, lifted it away from its master's belt, and switched it on. A blade the color of blood lit up Plagueis' quarters.

Sidious raised the blade over his head. For a moment, he hesitated.

_Through passion, I gain strength._

This was too easy. Like killing a crippled rancor. The thought filled Sidious with disdain. Sith were not meant to hesitate, and yet he had. Hesitation heralded weakness—fear—and Sith were fearless. Sidious knew this, and despised his own shortcoming.

Strangely, perhaps even intentionally, that anger made Sidious stronger. And he focused on the present.

Plagueis, asleep in his bed. Perfectly, almost sadly oblivious to what was about to happen to him.

_Through strength, I gain power._

Sidious glanced at his master. Just long enough to see the pallid blue skin covering bone and blood, and closed eyelids that masked the red orbs beneath as if to keep their brilliance from radiating out.

_Through power, I gain victory._

Long ago, those eyes of Darth Plagueis had pierced Sidious' soul and filled him with curiosity. Wonder. Hate. Who did this Plagueis think he was, trying to divine Sidious' destiny? Trying to take the future out of the hands of the only being capable of seeing it.

Plagueis had prevented him from pursuing Alura, from making alliances with Finis Valorum. Most of all, though, Palpatine hated his Master because of the Sith'ari. Plagueis meant to replace Sidious. And Sidious could not stand to see a universe where his power was nonessential.

So…before letting gravity guide the lightsaber to its destination—cleaving Plagueis' head from the rest of his body…Sidious reached into the Force and gazed through the crystals of possibility. Into the future. And he found his gaze once again on that desert planet.

Sidious could only see a pair of Jedi walking across a sun-parched plain. Nothing else, but the equation was simple enough to decipher.

The row houses would be the parlance of the Sith'ari, and the woman his protector. Jedi intervention would…complicate things, but that was a challenge to be met. A challenge for another day.

Sidious scowled, and returned to the present.

_Through victory, my chains are broken._

Part ofhim had wanted Plagueis to stir. At least then, the apprentice would have a challenge on his hands. This was just as well. For now, Sidious could live without challenges. There would be enough of them in the future.

Plagueis' whole life, all his victories and struggles and failures. All his service to the Ascendancy, and the countless hours spent training his treacherous apprentice. All of it has added up to this and only this.

He has existed only for this.

To follow suit of generations of Sith before him. To fall at the hands of a simple and clumsy lightsaber attack—devoid of any elegance or aptitude. To be the first victim of Darth Sidious' labyrinthine schemes. The first…but most certainly not the last.

Then, the blade of blood crossed through larynx and flesh and blood like a butcher's knife.

_The Force shall set me free.

* * *

_

Thus it was. After the death of two apprentices, Maul and Dooku of Serenno, Sidious finally took the Sith'ari under his wing. The boy was Anakin Skywalker, who earned freedom by an auspicious conspiracy of forces: a contingent of Jedi, a Gungan, athe recently-elected ruler of the Naboo, Padme Amidala…

Sidious made good on his promise to watch Skywalker's career with great interest. As war ravaged the dying Republic, Sidious played the part of a caring politician while seducing Skywalker to his dark purposes.

When the endgame arrived and Sidious killed Mace Windu, Skywalker ceased to be. He became Darth Vader, and the stories the public heard told that Anakin Skywalker—the Hero Without Fear—had died when the 501st Legion invaded and sanitized the Jedi Temple.

Sidious spent years hunting the last remains of the Jedi rebels across the galaxy. Darth Vader killed Obi-Wan Kenobi aboard Sidious' treasured space station, and the Grand Master Yoda had long since gone into exile; his presence in the Force masked even to the Emperor.

Sidious' Grand Empire—the one he had lied about to Tyranus and promised to Vader—was, on a fundamental level, the irrational summation of a blood feud begun thousands of years ago over a simple difference in point of view.

Sidious was, above all, the sole proprietor and prime mover of a plot formed before he was even conceived, a provocateur succeeded where his progenitors had failed. Palpatine was a pleasant and warm façade. Sidious was cold and distant.

Before the Grand Army of the Republic was raised, Sidious funneled funding to Jedi Master Jorus C'Baoth's brainchild—the Outbound Flight project. The expedition was summarily destroyed by proxy: a young Commander of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet left Outbound Flight a radioactive hulk drifting through space.

And secondly, the execution of Order 66—a code installed in the clone officers of the Republic military while they were still in their crèche-schools, commanding immediate and necessary action to stop traitorous Jedi commanders. Order 66 was the apogee of a lifetime spent in pursuit of the extermination of the Jedi. From there on out, the way things were was over. The old ways of life stuttered and fell in the province of mass militarization and the omnipresence of Darth Vader as the Emperor's enforcer. Sidious' Empire destroyed the old galaxy, and recast it in fearsome black. It was a new age. A new paradigm for the people and the planets involved.

One from which the galaxy never fully recovered.

Sidious' truest of true natures became evident when he betrayed Vader in favor Luke Skywalker. The betrayal sealed Sidious' and Vader's fate alike. Both died in the explosion of Sidious' second battle station. And the Empire was a fraction of what it once was, disassembled and ineffective.

It remained only for a brilliant Chiss—the one who had destroyed Outbound Flight so many years ago—to pick up the pieces and lead the Empire to glory once more.

_**--END--**_


End file.
